Angels, Demons, Asians and Zombies
by BananaNutCrunch
Summary: An angel and a demon take an impromptu vacation that's long overdue. They haven't told anyone about it, so they're assumed dead. They'll wish they were, though, because what with this neglecting of duties, things on Earth will quickly be going to hell...
1. Introductions and Whatnot

**And so I present to you, my NaNo for 2010! I post it here in the hopes of getting criticism and other points of view, because I want to get my proof-copy done perfect. I'm still editing, although I imagine updates will be quick since most of it is written anyway. This is my first time letting anyone read it, so enjoy!**

**I dedicate it to all the awesome people who know who they are. C:**

* * *

Arthur is the angel in charge of bringing souls from Earth to Heaven, and has been on the clock for more than six thousand years without vacation. He's overworked and underpaid, and he's finally snapped. Whisked away by his best friend/worst enemy Francis, the Ferryman for the river Styx and Arthur's demonic counterpart, the two abandon their jobs in favour of a holiday in Europe.

Meanwhile, there is Alfred, Arthur's adopted son and not the sharpest knife in the tree. Al believes his father is dead, and with the help of not-quite-demon Feliciano, he will stop at nothing to avenge his father's death (whether or not that actually happened).

All's fine and dandy for a while, but without the otherworldly deities around to do their jobs, things start to go wrong, and Earth is bearing the consequences. Enter Yao, a Chinese clairvoyant whose prophecies never come true, and the other two members of the Asian Trio; Kiku, a Japanese youth cursed with terrible luck (but only on Thursdays) and the Korean man, Im, who is a hell of a lot more trouble than he's worth. Together with their friend the Canadian kid, an unfortunate student possessed by the soul of a dead Viking woman, the guys decide that it is up to them to stop the world from coming to an end.

Of course, no apocalypse would be complete without a horde of flesh-eating zombies.

* * *

**The Cast**

**Angels**

**Arthur**

The angel in charge of carrying souls to Heaven. An uptight, crusty old deity who takes the form of a young English gentleman. He's been around since before all this new-fangled "Iron Age" nonsense, which makes him quite senior in rank (but nobody ever listens to him). Wrongfully accused of dying.

**Alfred**

Or just plain 'Al'. One of the younger angels, and the only one who wears jeans around Heaven. He's not the brightest, but he makes up for it in determination and good intentions. Instigator of the plan of Avenging Arthur's Death. Of course, Artie isn't actually dead, but Alfred won't let that stop him.

**Demons**

**Francis**

The ferryman who carts souls across the river Styx and into the gates of Hell. He's been around longer than Arthur. Takes the form of a suave blonde in his early thirties. His job is pretty dead, so he delights in taking trips to the human world to pick up chicks, buy fashionable clothes, pretend to be French and tick off Arthur as much as possible. Accused of murder, but doesn't mind it too much.

**Feliciano**

Probably not actually a demon. His presence in Hell is a mystery, since he doesn't do much, but nobody bothered to throw him out. Quite close friends with Francis. If one did not know better, one would call him kind of "special", but that's all speculation. Nobody seems to find this strange.

**Bosses**

**God**

An obnoxious child who delights in overworking his angels and rarely listens to advice. Is extremely interested in humans and decides things on a whim, often causing disastrous consequences which have to be dealt with by His subordinates, such as famine, earthquakes and Justin Bieber.

**Satan**

CEO of Hell and generally a sadistic bastard. Loves His job more than any sane man should. Insists on having a life soundtrack and always has his musicians following Him around. Tends to stop whatever He is doing to correct his their song choices.

**The Devil's Musicians**

A trio of strings. Nobody has ever heard them speak.

**Humans**

**(the Asian trio)**

**Yao**

A Chinese clairvoyant who frequently has prophetic dreams that never come true, although that doesn't stop him from trying to warn everyone anyway. He also communicates with the dead, mostly through text messages. His biggest regret is not getting an unlimited phone plan early on in life.

**Im**

An energetic young Korean who delights in messing shit up. Prefers to look at the brighter side of life (as in, "As long as someone else is suffering worse than me, I'm just fine!").

**Kiku**

A Japanese youth cursed with terrible luck (but only on Thursdays). He doesn't know how, but Im suggests that Kiku has somehow pissed off the God of Thursdays. Kiku is starting to believe this. He also suspects that the God of Mondays is angry at him too (but then again, the God of Mondays hates _everyone_).

**and**

**The Canadian Kid**

A suicidal Canadian who laments his existence following the fateful day he ate a haunted orange, causing him to acquire the soul of a long-dead Viking woman. He now has two souls fighting over possession of his body, because let's face it, it's pretty cramped in there. The Canadian kid's numerous attempts at suicide are routinely thwarted by passers-by, most of the time by accident.

**The (Un)Dead**

**Pochi**

Kiku's dog. It's an unpleasant little bastard.

**Elizabeta**

A soul who should have departed a long time ago, but for some reason found herself hanging around on Earth. Centuries have gone by and she is now stuck in the body of a young man, although she doesn't seem to mind this as much as he does.

**The Zombie Herd**

A legion of the undead forced to wander around Earth as their souls have nowhere else to go. Perpetually questing for brains, but start to get smarter as time goes by. One of them is dyslexic.


	2. The Prologue: a series of Thursdays

It is seven thousand years before the birth of Christ.

People go about their daily business. There are goats, and there is barley, and there are men and women working for their families. All they need to look at is the immediate future. It makes no difference to them what goes into the process of growing, whether their plants are photosynthesizing and giving them oxygen. It doesn't matter whether the sun is a great big sphere of orange flame, or perhaps an errant fastball in the cosmic game of catch. The goats don't matter. Well, they_ do_ matter, but only in the way of whether or not they're fat enough to become a full meal, or whether or not one of them is pregnant. Their carbon components don't matter. Philosophy doesn't matter. God doesn't matter. Spirituality doesn't matter. Other settlements don't matter. All that matters is the here and now.

They are being observed.

Some distance away, two boys sit on a rock, watching the people work. One of them is small, birdlike, with entrancing green eyes and an expression far too solemn for someone so young. His eyebrows are unfortunate, and sit above his eyes like a pair of angry caterpillars. He is hunched precariously on the highest point of the boulder, chin resting on his knees and an unruly mop of hair fluttering about his face.

The other boy is older, and carries himself with far more grace. He is stretched languidly on his stomach, legs kicking idly and his chin in his palm. He fidgets every so often, because they really could have chosen a more comfortable place to loiter. His face is feminine and delicate and a tad mischievous, unlike his brooding counterpart's. He will grow up to be very handsome. Clear blue eyes are currently at half mast, and he yawns prettily into his hand.

Both boys are wearing odd white robes that will not be seen in Greece for another six thousand years or so. Each has a pair of wings on their backs, although they are still rather small and underdeveloped. Their faces, despite having distinctive features, are difficult to look at properly. They give off the appearance of having been put together out of several separate parts. Focus on one part of the face, and you immediately lose track of the rest of it. Look away, and the face escapes you altogether. This is because they have not yet gotten used to having physical manifestations of themselves. They are still basically balls of energy at heart, and while the humanoid forms are intriguing and novel, they have yet to get used to them.

Together, they paint the picture of a (rather adorable) gargoyle and a lazy cherub. This is not too far from the truth.

"I'm bored," says the older one. He speaks a language that has no name, for it is old, older than anything in existence. It is the literary equivalent of Pangea. The sound is strange and buzzing.

The younger one spares him a withering glare. "Then sod off," he replies. At least, this is what he means; in this ancient language, the closest translation is, "may your wings take you from this quasar to the next, and stay you there." He goes back to his observation.

The elder rolls onto his back and whines, arms and legs splayed out haphazardly. "I'm _bored_," he repeats. "We've been here for ages. Can't we do this some other time?"

The younger one shakes his head stubbornly. "That woman is just twenty steps away from finding a bit of dried clay. If she does, then she might just get the idea to use it for something. Then they can make all sorts of things. I want to see if that will happen."

The older boy sighs theatrically. "It _hasn't_ happened, and I doubt it will any time soon. Can't we go look at something more interesting? We only have so much of our youth left, you know. Soon enough we'll be old, and then we will have to Work." He makes a face, little nose wrinkling in distaste. The younger one spares him another glance and tells him that if he's so bored, he can go to Hell.

It isn't an insult. It's actually a suggestion for the other boy to go home.

There comes a harrumph in response, and the older boy stands up to stretch. "Maybe I will," he says meaningfully, but he goes nowhere. There are few in Hell who will not bully him, and it really is so much fun to bother the only other person he knows who is smaller than he is.

With a long-suffering sigh he should not be capable of, the smaller boy unfurls his legs and allows them to dangle off the edge of their impromptu seat. The older one swears he can hear hinges creaking. He tries to sit in his counterpart's lap, but is unceremoniously pushed off. He lands in the grass and does not move, content to stretch out and stare at the sky. It is much more comfortable here.

"I really don't want to start working," he whispers, not really expecting the other to hear him. But hear him he does, and there is an answer, although it is slow in coming.

"We must. We were made for it."

The elder sighs. "Yes, I know. We are the replacements to the original Transporters, the ones who will usher in the souls of the new world and all that. But I can't help but think it's going to be so incredibly _boring._ No fun, no playing, all you do is sit in a boat and bring people all over the place." And, he adds silently, there _is_ that awkward transition from childhood to adulthood. It is something he will have to deal with if he wants to keep his physical body, and no doubt he will be able to get over it somehow, but all the same, several hundred years of puberty do not sound appealing to him. They do age differently from humans, after all.

His friend shakes his head at him disapprovingly. "We're important, you know. Or we're going to be, at least. We'll have really special jobs that nobody else will do, and we'll have special names and everything." His face lights up a little at the thought. He does so love feeling needed. "I kind of look forward to it. Don't you think it'll be an adventure? And I can finally work like my silly brothers. Which is why I'm getting all my people-watching out of the way right now."

The other one turns onto his side to fiddle with a flower. His face is in danger of pulling into a pout. "I s'pose," he finally grinds out. As much as he hates to admit it, he is rather curious to see what it will feel like to finally be an adult. And being a bit older, he will be the one to experience it first. The thought is scary and exhilarating.

The woman whom they are watching turns around and makes her way back to her hut, to extract one of one of her babies from the small ditch it has fallen into. The dried clay is abandoned. Both observers let out a disappointed groan.

"Well that was for nothing," says the older one. The other scowls deeply, standing up and brushing himself off. "Nobody asked you to come with me," he says a tad defensively. Although, they both know that he is glad his friend came along. They both need the company.

The bigger child sits up, beckoning the other to hop off the rock and come join him. He grins, and for a moment he looks like a small blonde predator.

"You know, I bet most of the Archangels are out. We could always sneak into Michael's armoury and play around with his stuff."

The younger one's eyes widen, as though he has never considered such a thing. It is a lie. He has done this more than once. "Take his swords while he's out Smiting? That's evil!"

"Then I am doing my job," says the other primly, standing up as well and holding out a hand expectantly. The younger cannot help but smile. The idea of a mock swordfight sounds appealing. He's small, but worryingly good with a blade. More than likely, one of them will go home crying and with a bloody nose, but for the moment none of it matters.

"If you insist," he replies, and allows himself to be grabbed by the wrist. Perhaps he will enjoy his childhood a little longer.

* * *

Eight thousand, six hundred and eighty-three years later, a cherub sits in an angel's arms.

The cherub has no parents. They never do. Beings like them tend to simply pop into existence. This one is pleasantly surprised to note that it did not have to wait long or someone to come along and pick it up. It does not know this, but it is born under a rather lucky star. Cherubs without guardians are just as happy growing up as any others, but it just so happens that a couple of someones were walking past just as this particular cherub materialized.

The child opens its eyes and looks up, not really making sense of anything but the fact that there are two pairs of eyes watching it. It yawns.

"He looks like me," says one pair of eyes.

There is an annoyed snort. "Don't be ridiculous, look at him, he's got far bluer eyes than yours," says the green pair of eyes. "Look at that fair skin. He looks more like me."

The cherub watches them warily, not really appreciating how the bickering goes back and forth, getting louder as time goes on. He yawns again and buries his head in something soft and warm. He spares a glance upwards and blinks, watching the eyes closest to him, presumably belonging to the one carrying him. They really are a lovely colour.

"Mama," he says matter-of-factly, effectively silencing both the voices. Two very surprised faces look down at him. He stares back defiantly.

There is silence. Eventually, the green pair of eyes coughs uncomfortably. "That should really be '_Papa_'," is all that it says.

The cherub rolls over and goes back to sleep.

* * *

It is now one thousand, nine-hundred and ninety years after the birth of Christ.

A small boy is sitting in his father's lap, fiddling with his brand-new cellular phone. His parents smile at him fondly, although there is a smidgeon of worry in their eyes. The boy is only eleven, rather young to be having such an expensive gadget. Some would say that this, along with the GameBoy, the skateboard and the television in his room, is spoiling him. Especially since they live in one of the smaller towns of China.

But his parents are desperate.

They have tried everything. Psychiatrists, priests, punishments, entreaties, alternatively pleading and cajoling. Now they are trying to distract him.

Many parents have had children with imaginary friends. Most of the time, they don't worry much about it. It helps the imagination, the doctors say, this is just a phase and your baby will grow out of it.

But Yao's parents _are_ worried, because their boy has not grown out of it.

And what's more worrying still is the nature of these "friends" of his. They are not monsters or superheroes or fairies, but ghosts. Spirits, he insists. Departed souls. They get offended easily, so you have to be careful about what you call them.

It is macabre, but not a reason for worry, one would think. However, there is another angle to Yao's alarming dilemma. He predicts things.

He does not go into divine ecstasies like the leader of a cult. Nor does he give impassioned speeches about the end of the world, nor give cryptic answers to the future. All he does is, very calmly, state exactly what is going to happen next. And he is always _right_.

This is why his parents are worried. The spirits tell him the future, he says, and while his parents are Buddhists and know that the spirits of their ancestors could be around somewhere, at the same time they modern enough people to know that this is just plain _weird._

Which brings us back to the present. Yao's parents love him dearly and don't want him to face any trouble because of his… _predicament._ Already he is a bit of a social outcast, because his classmates (and their parents) are even less sure of how to deal with Yao than his own parents are. Thus, although they love their son and don't think he's crazy, they are trying their level best to make him forget about all of this and try to be normal. Hence, the mind-numbing electronic gadgets to take his mind off things.

The phone buzzes suddenly, startling Yao and making him drop it. At his father's prompting, he picks it up and accepts the text message. There is no return number.

Almost as if the Buddha himself is laughing at their efforts, the boy holds it up triumphantly. "It's from my spirit friends!" he says brightly, waving the device in his father's face. "It says, 'hah'."

He puts the phone down, looking puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His parents give up. It isn't worth the effort.

* * *

A year later and a country away, Kiku falls over for the umpteenth time.

He is an extremely accident-prone little boy, his parents think as they rush to pick him up. He isn't even crying. His parents think this is because he is used to it, although the prospect is a little worrying. Kiku isn't old enough to understand this yet, but in the seven years that he has been alive, not a week has gone by when he has not repeatedly injured himself in some way.

They set him the right way up after only two tries, and Kiku shuffles off to ask shyly if he can play with the girl in the sandbox. He really wants to play on the swings, but his parents refuse to allow it. They know from personal experience what happened when their only son tried to do anything remotely rigorous, and despite being a very mild-mannered boy, the child had not taken too quietly to getting his arm broken.

His parents have their misgivings about the sandbox, even, and they are proven right as Kiku suddenly starts tearing up because sand has managed to make its way into his nose. His parents wearily come once again to the rescue, picking the sniffling child up and patting him on the back gently, cooing promises of ice-creams and his favourite lamb chops from the Western restaurant across the street, although he won't be allowed to handle the utensils for his own safety.

Much like Yao's parents, they are worried. They have tried all manner of doctors and child therapists, even going so far as to have the child exorcised, all to no avail. His luck is still abysmal, and it is all they can do not to do the honourable thing and commit seppuku after looking at all the things the poor boy has to live with. How he still manages to stay so sweet and polite is a mystery.

Kiku manages somehow to fall out of his mother's arms and into a bush. His parents scramble around looking for him, thinking about the pattern that they have recently noticed. For some inexplicable reason, their son only seems to have bad things happen to him once a week. More specifically, every Thursday. The rest of the week he is healthy and probably happy.

A loud cry is heard, and Kiku comes running out of the bush with a large squirrel chasing after him. His parents sigh once again, and quickly scoop him up before he can come to more harm. It is unfortunate, and they wonder what the poor child could have done in his past life to deserve such a thing.

Friday cannot come too soon.

* * *

Two thousand and three years after the birth of Christ, a young Canadian man sits at the counter of his tiny, cramped apartment, peeling an orange absentmindedly.

He is contemplating suicide.

This is not unusual for him, as he was diagnosed with clinical depression a very long time ago. It's no wonder. He suffers from classic Middle-Child Syndrome, despite the fact that he is a twin. All his life he was overshadowed by his brother, and the only times anyone ever noticed him was to mistake him for the other boy. The Canadian has spent life as more of a ghost than a member of his family. His parents are well-meaning and don't intentionally try to upset him, but even _they_ tend to forget about him. Half of his school days were spent sitting around aimlessly until his parents finally remembered to come and pick him up. Every year, during his and his twin brother's birthday, his parents would forget to give him a gift. And then they would get embarrassed and one would try to stall him while the other hastily ran out to buy a last-minute present. He'd grown up receiving things like assorted bags of convenience store-candies for Christmas.

When he finally turned eighteen, his brother ran off to join the army. He has not seen or heard from the other man since. He himself decided to leave, to get himself a degree, and had ended up enrolling in an arts college.

Three years and a Bachelors in poetry later, he is unemployed and living off the money his parents sometimes remember to wire him.

He is bitter about life. His meds have run out and he is not interested in replacing them. What would be the point? They do no good anyway. No matter how many he takes, he still finds himself coming up with new ways to kill himself every day. Yesterday he considered drowning himself in a saucer of water. Today he thinks about jamming the segment of orange up his nose to suffocate himself.

He has acted on these dark thoughts more than once, or at least he has tried to. Nobody would miss him. Nobody even remembered him. People bumped into him on the sidewalk and looked around wildly, wondering what they had collided with. He'd go to get groceries and it would take several minutes of polite coughing to attract the cashier's attention. More than once he'd been sitting in the Subway and a complete stranger had sat on him as though not even noticing that the seat had been occupied.

So he tries to off himself. Almost every day, in fact. But it never seems to work. As if to add insult to injury, even his attempts at suicide are routinely thwarted by the people around him, often unknowingly. The irony of it makes him laugh. Nobody would notice enough to stop him from jumping off a ledge, but when he actually tries to do the deed, someone would blunder along and muck up his plans without ever noticing, and then waltz back out while he sat there and screamed in frustration.

All this while being a soft-spoken and pleasant enough fellow on the outside. Passive-aggressiveness can be a sly motherfucker.

He sighs and pops another segment of orange into his mouth. He should not be so negative, his mother told him last night on the phone, albeit a little awkwardly as though she had no idea who she was talking to. The same thing she'd told him as a teenager, sitting across from him in the hall and peering at him as though she was trying to place exactly where she had seen him before.

And she is right. Things are not quite so bad for the Canadian anymore, despite not having enough money to pay for half of his bills. He has just recently managed to find a job he can possibly do, as a waiter in some Chinese takeaway. A small voice scoffs at him. _What good could you do as a waiter? Your customers wouldn't even notice you standing there._

He frowns and jams the last bit of orange into his mouth with rather more force than necessary. His dog, a shaggy white mongrel, looks up at him blankly before shuffling off to go back to sleep. The ginger rolls his eyes. Even his dog doesn't remember him.

He sighs and leans back, thinking about what he'll say at the interview. It can't be hard, he imagines. Being a waiter doesn't require rocket science. He opens his mouth and looks at the ceiling. "I am going to be okay," he says to himself.

To his horror and morbid curiosity, his mouth begins to open without his consent. In a completely different voice than his own (a woman's voice, no less), he answers himself pleasantly. "_Yes, I'm sure you will be fine. Oh, what a lovely home you are having. My name is Elizabeta, by the ways."_

There is silence for a while, and the ginger wonders if he is suffering from withdrawal symptoms since he hasn't taken his Prozac in so long.

His mouth opens again without his control._ "Actually, I can be explaining this," _he tells himself. _"I am,a Viking woman from many summers ago. I am dead, but I could not get to Valhalla. Now I am in your body. I do not know why. I am looking at the English in your head and I think the correct word for my story may be, 'trippy'."_

The Canadian blinks at the ceiling. Yes, he decides after a moment of deliberation, he is most definitely beginning to hallucinate. Perhaps it's time for another visit to his therapist.

"_No, no, no rapists please,"_ the voice tells him as he pats himself kindly on the shoulder without wanting to. _"I am a very nice soul and will protect you until I go away. Having two souls in one body may not be so bad after all! But, maybe you must be more careful with what you are eating, yes?"_

The Canadian kid sits up in horror, staring down at the remains of orange he's just eaten. Of all the things to happen to him, this takes the cake. Plenty of weird things has he seen, but never a haunted fruit.

He whimpers. Suddenly, his thoughts of suicide are far more prevalent than they were this morning.

* * *

Im stands around outside the entrance to a restaurant some five years later. He looks around him in wonder. New York is amazing, he thinks to himself. So big and full of buildings and all sorts of fun things.

He is a Chemistry student all the way from Seoul, having been sent by his parents to get him as far away from them as possible. He remembers his sister mentioning something about how it is not safe to be leaving him unsupervised. The thought makes him smile. What a sweet sister he has, always worried for his safety!

She had been like this ever since that family reunion dinner they had when he was fourteen, when his cousin had been running around drunk and nearly falling into the koi pond. His parents had called out for him to come back before he hurt himself, and Im, being the helpful child he was, had immediately run out and subdued his cousin with a chloroform-soaked rag. His family had stared at him, ashen-faced, until his mother had finally asked where'd he'd gotten that particularly handy piece of equipment from. He'd happily told her that he'd bought the rag from the supermarket. They hadn't asked him anything more after that.

Of course this hadn't been the first time he'd done something really innovative, nor had it been the last. Throughout his youth he'd been setting things on fire, short-circuiting the electricity, inventing things and carrying chloroform around, before finally having decided that his real passion was chemistry. He still tinkered around with his gadgets, though. Right now he was working on a solar-powered torchlight.

And now he was here, in the middle of the city, about to enroll somewhere prestigious and far from home despite his sister's hissed warnings that it wouldn't be safe to leave him to his own devices. Their father, however, had quite plainly told her that it was better than having Im anywhere near _them,_ so he was packed up and shipped off without any further ado.

The glass doors to the restaurant are easy to open. He steps inside, noticing a sullen boy in a maple leaf-hoodie sweeping in a corner, and a young man with a Spock haircut manning the cash register. He prances in, confident that he'll get a job as one of the servers, because his tuition isn't gonna pay for itself, you know!

He breezes into the kitchen, much to the surprise of the chefs. He leans over a shelf and sticks his finger into a plate of sweet and sour pork. "Hi!" he greets them cheerfully.

One of the many Orientals turns around to look at him. "And you are doing what exactly?"

"I work here now," answers Im, neglecting to mention that he hasn't actually applied for the job yet. He'll get it eventually, he figures, so he might as well establish his position now. "I'm Im. You can call me Boss."

The short man dressed in a chef's garb raises an eyebrow at him. "If you're working here, you can make yourself useful by taking this Chow Mein out to table five." He thrusts a large plate into Im's hands and shoos him off, brushing off any questions the younger man gives him. Seconds later Im finds himself in the dining area of the restaurant, holding a plate of steaming chicken and having no idea where table five is. He smiles, shrugs and simply resolves to go around asking until someone eventually accepts the dish.

And so he spends the entire night waiting on tables before the manager shows up and figures out that he doesn't actually work there, and he is finally booted out of the restaurant with a free order of Peking Duck for his troubles.

He sits outside on the curb, not knowing whether he should go in and ask for his paycheck while the restaurant closes. As he is debating this, the workers file out, some chatting amongst themselves and some just hurrying to get out of the cold winter air. Im recognizes the chef from earlier, along with the cashier and the ginger. He waves.

The chef smiles at him, half amused and half exasperated. He approaches as Im stands to greet him, giving the other man a sound smack on the arm. "Why did you say you were a waiter? I shouldn't have given you all those plates to serve. I feel bad."

"No problem!" Im quips cheerfully, saluting with the hand holding the duck. The carton hits him in the face, but he doesn't notice. The chef smiles at him yet again, and for the first time Im notices that the man is much smaller than him, and speaks with an accent as though he comes straight from China.

The chef holds out a hand for Im to shake. Im tries, but realizes too late that he is still holding the duck. Instead of shaking the man's hand, he deposits the duck in it, and beams. The chef is bemused, but he laughs.

"Thanks, I guess. Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is totally mine," replies Im obediently, still smiling like all is right in the world. Already he is looking forward to his new job, even though he has yet to actually get hired. It doesn't matter. He'll show up every morning to wait on tables until the manger finally gives in and hires him. Im tilts his head to the side. "What's your name?" he asks.

The chef blinks at him, slightly surprised at the question. "Didn't I introduce myself? Sorry, that was rude." His face melts into another smile. "You can call me Yao," he says. "And you can have your duck back."

Im takes the food with a giddy smile, spinning on his heel to follow the Yao as he begins to walk away. He lives in that direction, after all, and he might as well get the chef to keep him company. The maple-leaf and the other boy follow behind, but this only makes Im smile wider. He feels like he's a kid again, and he's just found a brand new best friend.

* * *

**And by the way, a chitoniskos is a kind of outfit that the Greeks used to wear. It's rather like a toga. The one I have in mind for Arthur is the one they would have used for farming, meaning it only reaches the knees. Makes flying easier amiright? That's the only reason, honest.**

**And I'm fully aware that Hungary was never a Viking in Hetalia-verse, but I couldn't be bothered. So Viking she stays. :D**

**And the bit about Im with the chloroform rag was a bit of a shout-out to the character of Yong Soo in Much Ado by SpeakingThroughWrittenWords. I absolutely adore Yong Soo there, almodt as much as I love Maddox. C:**

**If you happen to notice any errors in the names, do tell me!**


	3. Chapter 1: Sunday

**I hope this isn't boring or anything, or overwhelming because I've gone and added so many chapters at once.**

**Anyway, here's the very first chapter! :D**

* * *

The spirits of Dramatic Tension and Artistic Atmosphere respectively dictate that a time of great importance, a time heralding change, should always be accompanied by a dark and stormy night.

Unfortunately, this time of great importance, this time heralding change, happened to be somewhere around four o'clock in the afternoon.

The weather wasn't remotely stormy, seeing as it was in the middle of autumn; the only visible hint of rainfall was some vaguely depressed-looking clouds and a slight chill.

So it wasn't so much a dark and stormy night as it was a damp and slightly muggy afternoon.

Weather like this was not conducive for work. In fact, in most places, say for example England or China or the Mediterranean, people would be preparing for a long day of slacking off.

New York, however, was different.

If one were to mention the concept of slacking off to a member of the New York corporate circle, one would find oneself faced with varying expressions of horror, shock or downright contempt (rather akin to the looks a butcher would receive upon innocently wandering into a Vegetarianism seminar). In the city of New York, one simply did not _do_slacking off. Work continues and never stops, come rain or sun or zombie apocalypse.

In fact, the spirit of New York work ethic is so strong that even _if _a hypothetical legion of the undead were to suddenly populate the earth, there would still be people running around swearing and buying hotdogs. The only difference would be that these people would, in fact, be zombies.

The tenth of October was a day typical of the city. Uncaring of the stunning backdrop of red and brown leaves, busy people hurried back and forth down one of New York's main streets.

Only one person stood still in the middle of it all. A man was loitering near the entrance of a building, evidently waiting for someone. He was young, although his severe countenance would suggest otherwise. He wore his hair slicked back to within an inch of its life, and his back was ramrod straight as he stood.

With piercing blue eyes, he observed the crowd of people moving almost as a single unit, pausing once in a while to smooth imaginary wrinkles from his suit. Nobody but this man seemed to notice that there was a hundred dollar bill lying on the ground.

He did not know it, but there were two people standing closer to him than he would have liked.

A demon and a slightly soggy angel hung over the man's shoulders, muttering words directly into his subconscious.

"Go on, take the money," whispered the demon seductively, leaning in quite close to the man's ear. He took the form of a suave, handsome blonde in his early thirties. His voice was like black velvet wrapped in a French accent. Cerulean blue eyes scanned the crowd for any sign that another person had spotted the cash, and he pulled back the sleeve of his suit to take a look at his Rolex. "_Mon dieu_, hurry up and take it already. I don't have all day."

The other figure, the angel, pursed his lips in annoyance. "No, don't take the money," he said. "Go hand it to that nice police officer over there. Go on, he's less than twelve feet away. Do something nice." Unlike his counterpart, this man stuck out in the crowd like Jackie Chan in a Hindi movie, or like an Australian in basically any part of the world. He had a pair of wings inexplicably attached to his back. It was a good thing that he was currently invisible to the eyes of humans, otherwise he would not only have been stared at, but might possibly have been arrested as well. It had happened before, after all, and it was the kind of experience he would rather not repeat.

He waved his wand threateningly at the other. "Sod off, Francis. You're a terrible influence. Go fall in a ditch or something."

Francis sniffed haughtily, straightening up and running a hand through soft, wavy locks. "_Ange._ I understand that I am making you uncomfortable. I am, unfortunately, very handsome and charming, and every moment you spend with me must be torture because you are naturally attracted to me. However, I'm afraid I have a job to do, being a high-ranking demon and everything. Spreading little acts of evil is something I must so, regardless of how badly you might want to take me to bed."

The angel let out a very rude, and very undignified snort. "Git. The only thing I want to do to you in bed is to suffocate you with a pillow. And you aren't high-ranking at all. All you do is ferry people around in that oversized boat of yours."

Francis waved a hand noncommittally. "You say that, but in truth you share the exact same job as I do. All you do is bring souls to Heaven. It is not as though you are an archangel or anyone _important."_

The angel, Arthur, scowled. "It's not my fault I haven't gotten a promotion in millennia. My bleeding git of a boss hates me. I don't see why, I'm the only one who actually does any work around Heaven. Nearly six thousand years I've been carrying people through the gates of Heaven. Do I ever get a thank you? A pat on the back? A 'good work, old chap'? If that isn't bad enough, I'm forced to go around trying to make people do Good like some sort of _intern_. It's not fair."

Francis smiled in a way that made Arthur want to punch his face in. Instead, he settled for a pointed glare as Francis reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder. "There, there, my poorly-dressed friend. Not everyone can be as successful as I am. Perhaps one day people will start to respect you in the workplace. I suggest hitching your _chitoniskos_ up a little higher and exposing more skin."

"And you think that'll work, do you?"

"It would certainly grab _my_ attention."

"You massive wankstain." Arthur knocked Francis's hand off his shoulder in disgust, and turned back to the human he had been trying to persuade to do the right thing.

"Look, you, I'd like to go off and get plastered somewhere, but you're the only thing standing between me and total intoxication. I'm starting to lose my patience. Take the money and go hand it to that police officer right now, or I will be forced to materialize right in front of you and shove my wand where the sun don't shine."

Unsurprisingly, the human did nothing. Arthur sighed and put his head in his hands. Francis shook his head sympathetically. "He cannot hear you like that, _ange_. You have to talk to his subconscious. You know that."

The angel huffed and ran a hand through dirty blonde hair, upsetting the position of his halo slightly. "Bugger this for a lark. He's not listening to either one of us. Look at that, he's leaving. Just walking away, ignoring the money. He didn't even have the decency to pick a side. What is the world coming to?"

He sighed and sat down on the sidewalk, barely flinching as unsuspecting humans walked right through him. Francis made himself comfortable next to him, mindful of any stains that could possibly get onto his Armani. He also sighed, and cupped his chin in his palm.

"Now what?"

"I don't know," said the angel miserably. This was not the first time he had been ignored. Oh, sure, he had been rejected in favour of Evil before, several times in fact (and it always did seem to be Francis's fault), but it never used to be like _this_. Humans had never just walked off without even contemplating the choice between right and wrong.

"It is only recent that humans have started becoming like this, _non_?" asked the demon, voice devoid of its usual smugness. "It's like they have just decided not to bother with anything anymore. Angels have good, demons have evil, but humans have come up with something entirely their own. Indifference."

"We're outdated." Arthur stared blankly ahead. He had known this for a long time, of course. He was not stupid, after all. He'd seen the world changing. Humans did not need them. Nobody gave a second thought to the questions of good and evil, because they didn't care anymore. Angels and demons were becoming obsolete.

"This is bollocks," he mumbled, allowing himself to fall flat on his back, arms spread out on the pavement. His halo fell off and rolled away somewhere. Francis got up and went to go look for it. He returned a minute later, polishing the mistreated accessory on his sleeve, and offered it back to Arthur. Arthur didn't take it.

"I suppose it would have happened sooner or later," said the demon, spinning the little golden hoop around his finger absentmindedly. "We're running out of things to do because humans are beginning to want to run things by themselves. Our work is not important anymore. Even so..."

"Hmm?" The angel turned his head slightly.

"Even so, we are still put to work."

Arthur let out a short bark of laughter. "That's true. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I _shouldn't _have any work to do, other than Transporting people, I mean, which is a heavy enough duty in itself. I should have retired from everything else decades into my job. But my boss still makes me do everything He's too lazy to do Himself. Do you know I pick up the morning coffee for everyone at work? I don't even like coffee."

"At least you have something to do _other_ than being at the beck and call of silly spirits who can't find their own way into the afterlife," responded the demon bitterly. "What am I? I'm a ferryman. All day, every day, I sit in a ferry and take people across the river Styx. Back and forth on that excuse for a waterway. Do you know how boring it is? Every passenger on that boat is dead. Dead people are no fun to talk to. There aren't even any pretty girls to entertain. They're all too terrified of the idea of Hell. I only have one person to talk to, and that's Feliciano. The boy's nice enough, but one can only take so much of him at a time, and a conversation can get quite stale after three thousand years. And at times, to my utter displeasure, I have to lower myself to the duty of kicking stowaways from Heaven off board."

"Stowaways? You mean there are actually people trying to sneak _into_ Hell?"

The demon shrugged nonchalantly. "People trying to rescue loved ones and such. You know that saying, 'going through Hell and back'? Apparently some people take that seriously. I don't see why. It's Hell. It is not as though Hell is a great vacation spot or anything. 'Come to Hell, the weather's always warm!' Pure folly, I tell you. Although even _that_ does not happen much anymore. Romanticism, I think, is a thing of the past."

"And to make things worse, I hear the fares for transport are going down," said the angel, fiddling with a loose thread on his clothing. The demon nodded mournfully. "_Oui._ My pay is not what it used to be. It's my boss's fault; He's had this idea to commercialize everything. Or at least that's what He says, I think He's just cutting my pay to mess with me. You know what He's like."

"Mhmm. It's no wonder He got fired from Heaven. I applaud Him for going off and starting His own thing, though. It's good for him. My boss is a pain in the rump."

A silence settled between them for about a minute. With a deep sigh, Francis stood and dusted his pants off. He offered a hand to the angel.

"I assume you are not doing anything, _ange?_ Will you accompany me, then? I intend to have a drink. Perhaps we can reminisce about times long gone, where we used to be respected. Or maybe you'd like to finally except my offer of a healthy night of _l'amor_."

"Shut up," said Arthur without any malice. He took the hand that was offered and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "Where are we going? That pub on the corner of Main Street?"

"_Non_, all they serve is rum and cheep beer. You know I have better taste than that. Besides, do you really want to show yourself to humans dressed the way you are? I mean, I know you yourself do not care, but I would not be caught alive with you."

"Foppish bastard. Let's go back to my place, then. I've a mind to celebrate. Tomorrow's my first day off in forever."

"That sounds acceptable. I happen to have quite a nice stash of brandy. Feli smuggled it in for me. It has helped many a boring century pass. I'll just pop by my place and bring it along, shall I? Although, angels should not be drinking alcohol, now should they? You're not much of an angel. Strictly speaking."

"And you're not really French. Strictly speaking."

"It doesn't matter whether you are born French or not, all that matters is that you have a romantic soul. That is what makes a true Frenchman," said the demon loftily, waving a hand in front of him. A portal began to materialize in front of them, unique to Francis. It looked unremarkable at first, a bit as though someone had drawn a line in the air with a marker pen. Within a few seconds, though, it started to part, reality on Earth bunching up at the sides like a set of curtains. Inside was Francis and Arthur privately called the Transit, the space between Heaven and Hell. It wasn't much to look at; just four doors facing each other at opposite ends. To reach Heaven, one would have to take the door on the right and fly upwards. To reach Hell, on the other hand, one would have to open the opposite door and cross the river Styx, which would take one straight to Hell's gates. It didn't matter which door was which in relation to where you were standing. The one on your right _always_ lead to Heaven, and taking a left turn _always_ brought you to Hell.

This unassuming rift between dimensions was actually, as its name suggested, an unofficial transit from Earth to the Otherworld, and indirectly the one they used to Transport souls. The official Portals (the important ones, the ones with the capital letters) were fixed. They were scattered all over Earth. One in New York, one in Texas, one in Washington, one in London, one in Ireland, one in Paris, one in Rome, one in Athens, one in Tokyo, one in Mumbai, one in Delhi, one in Beijing, several in Moscow, the list went on. However, there were only two Portals in Transit. The way they worked was peculiar.

Each and every portal on Earth opened up into Transit, no matter where it was, and either of the two Portals in Transit, in turn, could take you anywhere on Earth. Time and space in the Portals did not have to obey the likes of mere Physics; one could step into a Portal in Toronto, cross the Transit, exit the other Portal ten feet away and end up in Kuala Lumpur; and then come back in and enter the opposite Portal _again_ to get to Beijing. Heaven and Hell used that to their advantage; they were able to collect souls from all over the world without having to _travel _all over the world. To make things easier, humans, once dead, were able to see the official Portals and tended to gravitate toward them. That meant that neither Arthur nor Francis had to go running after them, for they would amass at the Portals by themselves. All the Carriers had to do was pick them up and run off with them, so to speak.

Of course, the Portals had to be closed whenever they were not in use. Left unchecked, any soul could waltz out of the Otherworld, into Transit and back on to Earth as they pleased, and vice versa. Meticulous Francis was not, but this was the one thing Arthur never forgot.

However, generally speaking, whenever an angel or a demon was feeling lazy or was a bit too far away from one of the big Portals, he or she could simply open a temporary rift which would take them directly to Transit. Humans, whether dead or not, would not be able to enter. Given time, once a deity got very good at breaking the laws of Physics, each temporary portal would be unique. Francis's, for example, opened with the sound of tearing fabric. This was ironic for two reasons; firstly, because he really was ripping the fabric of the universe every time he opened a rift, and secondly, because legend had it that anyone who hung around Francis never tended to keep their clothes on for very long, unwillingly or not. Arthur seemed to be the only one immune to this, simply because he had gotten very good at drop-kicking Francis in the face.

Unconsciously, the humans on the street began to avoid the portal. The angel, however, stepped through the metaphorical doorway without batting an eyelid. The demon graciously stepped aside to let him pass before following, himself. The portal closed and the crowd surged back in to fill the empty space they had created earlier. Life on this particular street in New York went back to normal.

A few minutes later, a young, slick-haired man in an immaculate suit returned to the spot he had been standing at a few minutes earlier, picked up the hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to the police officer nearby. The police officer, however, pocketed the money with no intention of handing it over to the station.

It started to rain.

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******Well that's it so far! My first chapter. I'm still editing this fic, so feedback would be much appreciated. Loved it? Hated it? Drop me a line.**


	4. Chapter 2: Monday

**HERP DERP SECOND CHAPTER.**

**Okay lol here's the thing, I made a few edits to the first chapter. If you'd be so kind as to go back and check out the bit about Transit again, that would be awesome.**

**Also, the entire story takes place over the course of a week, so I'll just go ahead and put the days in the chapter title so you're all more aware of the timeline, shall I?**

**Herp derp durr.**

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Francis giggled and rolled over into Arthur's lap. "What," he stopped, hiccupped and tried again. "What about the time you killed that duck?"

Arthur snorted into his drink, not bothering to remove Francis from where he was invading the angel's personal space. "Sh- shuttup. Wasn't my fault. Damn bread was too hard. Wasn't my fault French loafs are hard. Damn French food. Killing ducks like that. How was I supposed to know a duck would die if you lobbed a bit of French bread at it? Stupid duck. Should've ducked."

Francis giggled harder, making the drink in his hand slosh onto the couch, something Arthur was too intoxicated to notice and berate him for. "_Mon dieu,_ I don't think it was a French loaf, I think it was one of those awful scones you like to bake. I notice they always come out burnt, no matter how long you put them in for. In a way it must be something of a talent. It can't be easy to cook food so consistently bad."

Arthur frowned at nothing, nearly spilling his precious brandy onto Francis's head. "Shaddap. I'm still surprised that whatshisname, Gabriel, didn't come over and yell at me for it because he's got a stick up his Holier-than-thou arse. Killing is _bad_."

"But it was only a chicken."

"Duck. And no, killing is still bad."

"But ducks are _tasty_."

"No, you're missing the point. The point is, stop groping me you bastard, the point is," he reached over Francis's head to get to the only bottle with any liquid left in it –he couldn't remember how many he'd had- and clumsily tried to refill his glass. "The point is, you're not supposed to kill fings- _things_- when you're an angel because killing is bad- bugger it, screw the glass, it's too much of a has- hassel- it's a big pain."

The angel batted away Francis's wandering hands and took a swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth off on his hand and offering the bottle to the demon sprawled all over his couch- and legs. Francis yawned and declined the drink, deigning instead to finish what he was still holding.

They were in Arthur's little apartment. It had not been redecorated since the Victorian era, much to Francis's chargin. It was tiny, but comfortable, and had quite a nice view overlooking the neighbourhood.

Many people are obsessed with the idea that Heaven is blue and white and populated by clouds. This was not entirely true; there _are_ rather more clouds than one would find on Earth, but they are at least twenty feet off the ground, and one would have to fly (or at least be very tall) to get anywhere near them. Also, although Heaven resembles a quiet suburban housing area, there are quite a few key differences between Heaven and say, New Jersey. For one, nobody has to pay electricity or water bills. There are also no cars, but nobody minds because nobody gets tired anyway.

But the truly remarkable thing about Heaven, Arthur personally felt, were the clouds everyone took for granted. These were not the silly ghosts you got on Earth; these were _real_ clouds, heavy duty ones. The kind that you dreamt about as a child. They were soft and bouncy and tasted, as Arthur had discovered one afternoon, faintly of lemon meringue.

"How long have we been drinking, anyway?" Francis asked, reaching up to try and grab a few feathers off Arthur's wing. Arthur shook him off inexpertly.

"Dunno, ol' chap. More than a day, methinks." Being divine entities, as they were, they were not restricted by human limitations and could keep drinking for as long as they could stay awake, or until they felt like sobering up. Arthur vaguely remembered getting drunk, and staying drunk, for an entire weekend. He'd done it as a bet. God hadn't been terribly pleased, but at least Arthur hadn't crashed or gotten arrested while transporting souls. That took quite a bit of skill, that did.

As it turned out, drinking at his place had proven to be a pretty good idea. Had he been at Francis's suite ('_bachelor pad'_ indeed, Arthur scoffed), he would probably have gotten too drunk to return to sobriety, and Francis would have had to haul him all the way home. Again.

"Don't you have work to do?" Francis tried again, eyes unfocused and trying to figure out if he was really seeing an extra head growing out or Arthur's neck. "_Mon dieu_, did your eyebrows just get thicker?"

"Bugger off, stop making fun of my eyebrows. And I have the day off today, believe it or not. Been looking forward to it for months. 'S just a day, really, but at least I don't have to work today because Raphael's taking over for me because he hasn't had anyone to heal lately, nice chap, even if he is a little bit effenimate- efenemenate- foppish."

"Then we should celebrate by getting absolutely pished," grinned Francis triumphantly, holding up his glass for a refill. Arthur chuckled and obliged him. "Way ahead of you, snail-sucker."

Francis hummed a thanks. "I'm surprised you're still cheerful, _ange_. Normally by now you would have started moaning about that ungrateful son of yours. You're a very depressed drunk."

Arthur grunted unhappily. "Thanks a lot, now you've gone and reminded me. God dammit, Alfred's not really my son, I only found him when he was a cherub but still, the silly twit hasn't got a lick of sense in him, or any manners! I know I raished him better 'n that, I know I did. I'm the bloody Transporter, that brat should respect me! But what does he do, he goesh and leaves me, just moves right out of my own house without telling me, had me worried shick, and when I finally find him he just laughs at me and calls me a clingy old man and tells me he needs his freedom and doesn't want to be oppressed any longer, I'm not a clingy old man! Am I a clingy old man?" he turned to face Francis, big green eyes beginning to go wet. Francis laughed and patted him on the head; or tried to, anyway, he might have missed a few times.

"That's more like it," was all he said, flopping back on the other side of the couch. Arthur let out a dry sob.

"That ungrateful bastard of a boy, I thought we could be friends and bond over our mutual dislike of you, Francis, but he didn't want to be my friend, he just wanted to tell me what to do, what to do, he doesn't even know what to do anyway I think that's total bollocks..."

He began to tilt dangerously to the side. "Am I Catholic or Potestant? God, I don't know anymore."

Francis seemed to ponder this for a moment. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, about to say something, when there was a sudden knock on the front door.

"Blaaaaaaaast. Who is it?" Arthur called over his shoulder, not in the mood to get up and investigate. Francis propped himself on one elbow to peer around the couch curiously. "_Ange_, you get visitors to your room? You didn't tell me you had services like that," he giggled, making the angel smack him.

"Shut up, you pervert. I- damn, who keeps knocking?"

A voice called through the door. It was young and melodic-sounding, cheeky and refreshing and as old as time.

"It's God."

"Bugger." The angel sat up, immediately sober. Francis made an odd noise somewhere between a curse and a yelp, and dived behind the couch as Arthur rushed to answer the door.

Before he could yank it open, the door sort of _exploded_ inwards, revealing a robed cherub with an impish grin. In a blur of blue and white, He barrelled across the room and into His subordinate's stomach, effectively knocking him over and making him gasp for breath.

God sat up on His angel's chest. "Hullo," He said cheerfully.

"Hello," replied the angel, staring up into big blue eyes and fighting the urge to swear –not so much because he was in front of his boss, but because his boss took the form of a child, and the prospect of teaching a child such bad language didn't sit well with him.

"I have things for you to do today," said God conversationally, apparently not mindful of the fact that He was making himself comfortable on His employee's stomach. Arthur struggled to breathe.

"What kind of things exactly?"

"Lots of things. There's a lot of paperwork you need to do because Michael's off smiting things and he's forgotten to do them, and I need those reports on the Haiti earthquakes by today or everything will be thrown off-schedule, also you remember those horses I made a while ago and Raphael stuck some horns on them so they'd become unicorns? Well apparently some of them got loose and it turns out that those horns are rather more like drills and you need to find them before they make holes in Heaven and everything falls right smack down on top of Earth. And Gabriel's gone into one of his moods again and locked himself up in his room. Last I saw him he was ranting about how he was surrounded by idiots, and well, I need you to get him out because he promised to play with me this afternoon because it's my day off."

Arthur blinked and tried to process all this information. "I have to do all that?"

"Yup."

"But... but it's _my_ day off too, sir."

"So?"

"So, I've been looking forward to this for weeks. You can't just go and give me work to do on my day off, it's not fair. And it's not even important work like smiting or saving people, it's silly things that anyone can do. Why does it have to be me?"

"There's nobody else."

"Bollocks, this place is swarming with people who aren't doing anything. Why don't You ask one of them?"

"But _Aaaaaaaarthur_," the child on his chest whined and shifted positions, "you know I can't trust those guys to do stuff. You're the only reliable person I know. That's the only reason I'm asking you to do this."

"Ridiculous!" snapped the angel, beginning to grow testy. "What do I look like, an intern? Find someone else to do all your ridiculous chores."

"No buts about it, Arthur. Don't make me demote you," replied God cheerfully, climbing off Arthur's chest and dusting Himself off.

Arthur glared at his boss from his position on the ground, furious. He opened his mouth to swear, but the words that came out were, "Sure thing, Boss, and might I add You look quite handsome today."

Arthur blinked, wondering what just happened. His features suddenly melted into a scowl. "_You conniving_- You made me say that, didn't You?"

"So it's settled, then?" God asked, with a wry smile that looked out-of-place on His round face. From his position behind the couch, Francis gulped. As much as he complained about the Devil, it seemed God was a force to be reckoned with as well.

The angel raised his head off the floor and sat up slowly, rubbing a sore spot on his elbow. God smiled fondly at him and gave him an affectionate pat on the head. "Cheer up, old guy. I'll make it up to you somehow. You can have another day off sometime and go and get drunk and smite things like you used to. Won't that be fun? By the way, demon guy, I can totally see you from behind the couch there. Say hi to the big jerk for me." With a final wave, God turned around and skipped out of the apartment.

Francis emerged cautiously from behind the angel's cream-coloured couch, not sure what to make of his boss being referred to as "the big jerk". He looked around for Arthur, only to find him still seated on the floor, head hanging rather dejectedly. Feeling sorry for him for once, Francis allowed himself to slide to the floor beside the angel. Arthur seemed apprehensive at having the demon so close, but relaxed as Francis's hand rested innocently on his shoulder and didn't wander anywhere south.

"Cheer up," he offered, knowing he wasn't helping much. Arthur let out a mournful sigh and drew his knees close to his chest. "This happens every time." His voice was muffled because he was speaking into his knees.

The demon nodded sympathetically, knowing full well that Arthur was right. Every time the angel got himself a day off –which was close to once a century, actually- something always seemed to come up at the last minute, forcing him to give up his vacation to go do his boss's bidding. It had been difficult trying to spend time with Arthur outside of work precisely because of this.

"I mean, who does he think he is?" Arthur suddenly lifted his head, gesturing with one hand while the other remained curled around his knees. "Really? Well, okay, he's_ God_ and everything, but does he really need to be such a slave driver? And the worst part, the absolute most infuriating thing that makes me want to find that flaming sword from the Roman Empire and go around chopping off some people's heads, is that I'm the only one being overworked like this. I haven't had a decent vacation in more than six thousand years. Do you know what it's like to have to work every day for six thousand years? My superiors aren't terribly helpful either. They call themselves Archangels but all they really do is goof off. The only one who ever does any real work is Gabriel, and even then he's prone to these ridiculous mood swings and bouts of depression and I always have to end up taking over. As if taking people to the gates of Heaven every day isn't enough work, I have to pretty much run Heaven single-handedly as well. It's not fair."

"You're right, it's not," said Francis thoughtfully, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the angel's back as Arthur let out a muffled sob. "They don't appreciate you here. It's really the exact opposite of what happens in Hell. There I always feel I can do more but I never get the chance because Hell's organization is so bad that nobody knows what goes where. Even when asked we just make things up. I'm bored out of my mind down there. Ferrying is literally the _only thing_ I do every day."

"I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything." Arthur sniffled pathetically and put his head in his hand. "I wish I could just leave. Go away for a bit and maybe live like a human. Don't they have it easy? Live a few decades, then die, then they have nothing to worry about. But I have to keep taking care of people because my job starts in the afterlife, which lasts for bloody _eternally_, oh yes. It's horrible."

Francis hummed noncommittally and continued patting his long-time rival on the back. Truth be told, an idea was beginning to form in his head.

"_Ange_," he said suddenly, making the angel look up. "_Ange_, you know how I keep saying Hell has better pay than Heaven?"

"You're not seriously going on about that again-"

_"Non_, listen. Hell also gives better working hours, doesn't it? As it is you barely have any time to go to Earth for leisure, am I right? When was the last time you went there when it wasn't work-related?"

"Aeons ago. I do believe it was around... well, probably around the Renaissance period."

"And when you are in Heaven, do you have to buy many things?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like groceries, electricity, wing-grooming items, things like that."

Arthur tilted his head and thought for a second. "No, nothing I can think of. Essentials are provided. Besides, angels are like demons in that they don't really need to eat. And you don't need many things to groom your wings. What's your point?"

Francis grinned broadly. "So what exactly do you spend your pay on?"

"Not much."

"And you've been saving it up all this time because you have nothing to spend on, am I right?"

"I suppose."

"And since Hell pays more than Heaven, I actually still have quite a lot of money left over despite the fact that I tend to buy more things on Earth than you do."

"Okay, so?"

"So," the demon stood, dusting off his pants and offering a hand to Arthur, smile still in place, "I think I know exactly what we're going to do!"


	5. Chapter 2 part II: Monday

**Immediate third chapter since not a lot happened the last time. BUT IT WOULD STILL MAKE ME HAPPY OF YOU REVIEWED FOR BOTH :C**

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"Are you serious?"

Arthur stared at his demonic counterpart, daring him to answer in the affirmative. Francis was unperturbed, instead smiling serenely and putting a hand on the angel's arm.

"Why not, _ange? _You need a break. I need a break too, I need to do something fun. And normally I would never admit to this, but it is really incredibly boring without you around to poke fun at. Feliciano just doesn't react the same way, and there is nobody else in Hell with as much free time as I have. What do you have to lose?"

"My job!" replied Arthur, aghast (but secretly slightly intrigued). "Have you any idea what would happen if I just got up and left? And here you're suggesting I pack my bags and go on vacation willy nilly. Heaven would disintegrate without me."

"Do you really care?"

Francis looked Arthur straight in the eye, and the angel found himself unable to lie. "Well... I would get in trouble for it, that's for sure. You can't just leave work without notice. And even if I did try to give notice they would never let me go because I have too much work to do anyway. Which brings me back to the previous topic, I can't leave because this entire company would fall apart without me to hold things together!"

"Let things fall apart, then. You and I both know the ethereal planes are a lot of talk. Even if things did not go well for a few days, what damage would it do really? We no longer dictate the actions of man. All we do is sit around and watch. If Heaven and Hell were to take a vacation for a few days I'm sure nothing bad would happen."

"Are you insane? Despite the fact that we aren't exactly high up on the corporate ladder, you and I both have an important job to do. What would happen to all the souls we're supposed to collect, hmm? You honestly think people are going to put a hold on dying just so we can go on holiday?"

The demon faltered. "Well...we could always keep the Transit locked, so no errant souls escape in or out. When we get back we can easily herd the ones stuck on Earth over to where they belong, can we not?"

"And leave a bunch of spirits wandering around the realm of the living, where anything could happen? Do you even _know _how many people die on Earth every day?"

"Who's going to notice? A human wouldn't understand paranormal activity if someone made a documentary about it. Nothing untoward will happen, although we might have to work a little harder once we get back."

"That doesn't change the fact that I would get in trouble. So much trouble it wouldn't even be funny. I could get demoted, or worse, they'd give me_ more _work to do! Or if they're really pissed I could get Felled," he gulped, eyes glazing over slightly at the prospect of getting cast off to work in Hell.

"_Ange, _despite what the name suggests, Hell isn't that bad, and you could do with a transfer after six thousand years. Besides, in Hell you would not have as much to do, remember? Nobody works all that much."

"That's all very well and good, it just means that nobody would miss you since you work there already. And I suppose even if I got Felled it might not be so bad. But! What if I'm not Felled? I _cannot_ handle being given more work as punishment. Immortal or not, I swear I will die."

"But you need a vacation." The demon frowned and released Arthur's arm, turning instead to pace around the room. It was utterly pointless, but someone _had t_o do it in situations like these. "If you do not take a vacation, you will go insane. And then I will have nobody to talk to except Feliciano, and _I_ will go insane. Do you really want to be the cause of my going insane?"

The angel smiled wryly and settled himself on the couch again, finally noticing the alcohol stains, but was unable to bring himself to care. "I know you mean well, and by thunder I wish I could take you up on your offer. But I'm afraid the consequences..."

The demon snorted bitterly. "_Consequences. _You people worry about nothing else. You need to learn to live a little. See, my boss is scarier than yours, and He would not be above using physical torture to keep us in check. But we are demons all the same, and it is not in our nature to obey orders, not even from Lucifer. Even if it is in the smallest way, we find means to rebel. But you just take everything that is given to you. I do not understand how you live with it."

"It's the way things work. We're bloody _angels," _sighed Arthur, not having the energy to argue. "Anyway, even if you left, who would do your job for you?"

"Feliciano. He has nothing to do anyway. Hey, why not get that boy of yours to take over your job for a while?"

"Alfred. Really."

"...well, I suppose that might not be the best option."

"Bloody right. I'd rather not have to return after a nice holiday to find the Heavens reduced to smoking ruins, thank you very much."

It was Francis's turn to sigh as he made himself comfortable next to the angel. "How to solve this problem?" he breathed, watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye as the angel extended a wing slightly to pluck out a stray feather. There was a bout of silence.

Suddenly, Francis perked up.

Arthur stopped moving immediately, regarding the demon with suspicion. "What?"

Francis smiled.

"I don't like the way you're looking at me, demon. What are you planning?"

"_Ange…"_

"What?"

_"En garde!" _

Diving across the space between them, Francis tackled Arthur onto the ground. The angel shrieked in indignation, toppling off the couch and onto the carpet that looked soft but really _wasn't. _He landed awkwardly on his wings and feathers flew everywhere.

"What the _bloody hell _do you think you are doing?" he demanded, attempting to punch the demon in the face. Francis huffed and managed to dodge without letting go. "I'm kidnapping you, what does it look like?" he said. "If you will not come with me, I will take you by force!"

The angel kicked him in the stomach, sending Francis sprawling backwards. However, the demon was undeterred, pouncing back onto Arthur and causing the two to roll across the floor and into the table. The bottle of brandy was upset and spilled onto the carpet.

"Have Hell's noxious fumes finally eaten all your brain cells? Unhand me this instant!"

"_Non, ange. _I am dead set on dragging you out of here so you can go and enjoy yourself. I- stop kicking me!- I am a demon, and you cannot expect me to listen to orders, especially if they are from you. Besides_, __is this not the only way to get you out of Heaven without getting you in trouble with your superiors?"_

Arthur stopped struggling. "What are you talking about?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Francis relinquished his grip on the angel's wrists. "If you were to get kidnapped, it's not as though anyone could blame you for it. If I brought you out of Heaven against your will there would be no way for you to get in trouble, because it would be all _my _fault, wouldn't it?

"Keep talking."

"I plan to bundle you up and smuggle you out of Heaven and take you to someplace nice, maybe France or something. Nobody would know where we are and everyone would go frantic looking for you. If things started falling apart in Heaven it would not be your fault because you had no say in the matter. So you would be safe. In fact, you would probably get a hero's welcome when I finally return you. If you're lucky, people will be sympathetic and may even give you less work than normal."

Arthur's eyes were still narrowed. "And what about you? What do you get out of it?"

Francis sat back on the angel's legs thoughtfully. "Me? I would probably get a commendation, actually. There is nothing quite so evil as kidnapping one of the holy, especially one working in such close proximity to God, such as yourself. Hmm, _oui,_ I can see it now_. __'COMMENDATION TO FRANCIS THE STYX FERRYMAN FOR THE ABDUCTION OF THE ANGEL ARTHUR.' _Yes, it would be very good for me indeed. It's been a while since I have received a commendation for anything. So you see, it is a win-win situation."

Arthur regarded the demon for a minute, still not entirely convinced, but not wanting to let the opportunity slip by. "You sly bastard. Only a demon could think of something that sneaky."

"You flatter me," replied Francis with a toothy grin. "And look, now we even have the scene of a struggle,' he indicated the mess they had made –strewn feathers, spilled wine, misaligned furniture- and chuckled triumphantly. "Nobody will suspect that this was consensual. Now all we need to do is get rid of _this," _he snatched away the halo that had gotten tangled in the angel's wings, and tossed it behind him. "Can't have anyone trying to contact you while we're on vacation, can we?"

Arthur snorted. "You really do spend too much time in Heaven. Not many demons know that the halo functions as a means of communication."

"Well, it's your fault. You have answered more than one call in front of me. Most angels would not be so quick to trust a demon with information that could be used against them."

"I only do it because I know you're useless. Now get off me, you git, I can't feel my legs."

Francis stood up and straightened his clothes, grinning as the angel attempted to make himself presentable. Arthur loved to be neat after all, and ruffling the angel's feathers –literally _and _figuratively- never ceased to amuse Francis. "Now, where shall we go first?"

"England," was the immediate reply.

Francis wrinkled his nose. "But the food is so _bland," _he complained. "Why not France? I simply adore Paris, and it would do you good to instil some romance in your soul."

Arthur glared at him. Francis grinned.

"Alright, a compromise. Perhaps we shall do a tour around Europe? That would be nice."

The angel's scowl relaxed somewhat. "Alright, but I get to choose the hotels. And I refuse to share a bed with you."

Francis winked. "We shall see about that. Also, you might want to talk to your boss about your uniforms. Robes are not really very good for fighting in. Five minutes ago I got a very clear view of your undergarments, not that I am complaining."

"Bloody _pervert!"_

"Says the one who just flashed me his underwear."

"Fuck you."

"Patience, Arthur. There will be plenty of time for that on our vacation."


	6. Chapter 3: Tuesday morning

**I AM SO INTELLIGENT :'D**

* * *

An angel spread his arms out as he flew, taking the time to do a few spins in mid-air. Never mind the fact that he was really looking for someone, what was the point of having these great big wings if you couldn't zoom around and _enjoy _them? The wind blew through his hair and made his eyes water. It was chilly, but he didn't mind.

He chuckled to himself, ignoring the raised eyebrows of a couple of passing co-workers and instead giving them a cheerful wave. Hey, it wasn't his fault if they gave him odd looks just because he was dressed like a human. He personally thought he looked pretty good in faded jeans and an old bomber jacket. He hadn't worn a toga in centuries, and it felt fantastic!

He flew through a cloud and shuddered at the dampness, finally reaching his destination and touching down on a slightly more substantial cloud. He shook himself off to get rid of the lingering moisture on his wings, and looked around. Where was that man? He knew he'd seen a flash of blonde _somewhere..._

"Raphael!"

At the mention of his name, Archangel of Healing, Raphael turned. His face broke into a smile when he located the source of the noise. He raised his hand to wave at the young angel jogging towards him.

"Hey, babe. What can I do you for?"

Alfred's signature grin widened. He liked Raphael –everyone did, Raphael was far too nice for his own good - and knew he'd try to help if he could. "I was looking for Artie. Have you seen him anywhere?"

"Artie?" Raphael looked thoughtful. "You mean Arthur? The guy with the eyebrows in need of a wax?"

"Yeah, him."

"Oh." Raphael chewed his lip absently. "He should be working or something, amiright?"

"I know, right? But it's weird. I mean, I tried calling him but he wasn't answering his halo. And he wasn't at the Transit place either."

"That's like, totes unawesome. I can't remember him _ever _turning off his halo. Maybe he's off being useful and stuff. Poor guy, he's pretty overworked, you know? I haven't seen him take a break in like, centuries, except for yesterday. And he's been working for _forever_, too."

"What do you mean, except for yesterday? What was he doing instead of working?" asked Alfred, tilting his head a bit. Raphael smiled as though he were divulging some great secret.

"I totes felt sorry for him, you know, so I offered to take over his job for a day so he could rest. It was totally easy convincing the Lord to let me take the job, so long as it got done. Poor Eyebrows really needed the rest."

"Oh. He never told me he had a day off." Alfred's wings drooped slightly, betraying his disappointment. He'd been looking for Arthur all day- not that he wanted to spend_ time _with him or anything like that, God forbid, he just wanted to bother him for a bit for old times' sake- and this information did not help him in the slightest.

Raphael smiled sympathetically and patted Alfred on the shoulder. "Relax, hun, I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later. Why don't you go play by yourself for a while instead?"

Alfred opened his mouth to protest the use of the word "play", but thought the better of it. After all, even though he was already more than three centuries old, compared to Raphael he was still just a child. Instead, he allowed his grin to slide back into place. "Thanks, Mr. Raphael! I think you're right, but I'm just gonna go stop by his place to make sure he's okay- I mean, to make sure isn't still drunk and passed out in the sink from yesterday. You know he has that drinking problem. "

Raphael offered a sickly smile. _Everyone _knew about Arthur's drinking problem. They also knew about his foul mouth and even fouler temper, but he was doing much of the work in Heaven so the angels tended to let his behaviour slide.

God certainly wasn't doing anything about it. Arthur's temperament probably amused Him.

Alfred left, and Raphael waved at his departing back. "So young!," he sighed to himself. "Just a baby, really. It's too bad he never got to see what being an angel was like in the glory days," Raphael rested a hand on his hip, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Things just weren't really the same. He, among others, missed the days when angels would descend to Earth to hand out epiphanies, and Smite things and generally mae a nuisance of themselves. Alfred would never know what he had missed by being born a few centuries too late, which Raphael was sorry for. It did his heart some good, though, that Alfred seemed to be enjoying himself as an angel nonetheless.

He conjured up a mirror and checked his already-perfect hair. "Well. At least the guy's having fun."

* * *

"Artie!"

Alfred banged on the door obnoxiously loudly, knowing it would piss his adopted father off. When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder this time, suspecting that the other angel really had passed out in the sink.

Finally growing impatient, Alfred decided to just kick the door down, because even among angels he had quite remarkable strength. The offending barrier to his father felled, he stepped inside and called out once again.

"Oi, Artie! Where'd you go, old man?"

He stopped suddenly and blinked, noticing the forgotten bottle of brandy on the ground, and the feathers everywhere. Now _that _was unusual. Arthur was nothing if not obsessive compulsive, and he would never allow this kind of mess to stay in his home. Nor would he ever tolerate wasting a drop of his precious alcohol.

"Maybe he's off getting cleaning supplies?" Alfred said, more to quell the sense of dread than because he believed it to be true. However, a quick check of the apartment proved otherwise. Arthur was nowhere to be found.

Perplexed and beginning to fear the worst, Alfred decided to try calling his guardian's halo again. To his bewilderment, he heard it ringing in the same room. Following the source of the buzzing, Alfred was horrified to find the discarded halo lying abandoned in a corner of the room. Even as he stared, it glowed pathetically.

Now he knew something was_ really __wrong._

Turning around and running out of the room, Alfred began to call out for his guardian. Unsurprisingly, nobody replied. Stopping in the middle of the corridor joining all apartments, he tried to recall if Arthur had mentioned anything to him about where he would be going that day, but came up empty. Artie hadn't even mentioned that he had a day off, let alone explained if he'd had anything planned for afterward. Could something have happened to him?

Frowning deeply and vaulting out the balcony, Alfred glided down to the ground, prepared to turn over every stone in Heaven to find the man he used to call "Dad". Even as he bit down the rising feeling of panic, he tried to convince himself that it wasn't concern he was feeling. No, all he wanted to do was find Arthur and bother him for a bit. Just for old times' sake.

And if Arthur didn't pop up soon, then Alfred was gonna have to bust a few asses.

* * *

**POLAND OH YEAH.**


	7. Chapter 4: Still Tuesday morning

**HAHAHAHA HEY HEY HEY YOU GUYS.**

**Being the ABSOLUTE FUCKING GENIUS I AM, I totaly uploaded the wrong chapter last time and didn't notice until just now. I haven't given anything away, but I did kinda disrupt the story flow a little HAHAHA. **

**SO.**

**If y'all could just flip on back to the PREVIOUS chapter, that's where the new chapter actually is :'DDD**

* * *

He didn't understand how two people could stand to have tea while being surrounded by dead bodies.

Sure, the garden was nice enough, with roses and pretty birds and a clear blue sky. It was like something out of a Victorian novel, if you didn't count all the corpses. _Those_ weren't so pretty. They were everywhere, though, leaning against the furniture and hanging off the rosebushes like some kind of sick, macabre decoration. Once in a while he could have sworn he'd seen a body twitch. It was horrifying and he wanted nothing more to get out of this place. But he couldn't move. He wasn't surprised about that, though. He rarely could move the way he wanted while he dreamt.

Oh sure, it was a dream. How could it not be? Where in real life would he see two men chatting away in a makeshift graveyard? The men themselves were not real, they couldn't be. Not when one of them had a pair of great white wings on his back that moved and fluttered about while he sat. _And _he was wearing a dress. Yao didn't often see that in real life.

The bodies really were moving. Jerking and writhing, trying to stand up. Yao felt a bit sick, because even though this wasn't the first time he'd had this dream, it still wasn't at all pleasant. He really wanted to run away, but the two men at the table didn't seem too bothered. The corpses were getting to their feet and the strange winged man and his companion didn't even blink.

In his dream, Yao brought his hands to his face. He needed to wake up soon, because he knew what was going to happen from here. The corpses would come towards him and he'd try to run, but before he'd be able to turn around, the ground would open up and he would catch a glimpse of Hell. At least, he assumed it was Hell. Heaven would not have a man standing in it with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

And Yao would fall in, and he would _keep _falling, falling, falling, like the girl in Alice In Wonderland. It would take less than a minute for him to get tired of screaming, although the man with the gleaming eyes would watch him expectantly. And he would keep falling toward his death, and he would pray for someone to save him, but the two men at the table would only continue sipping their tea. And Yao would fall.

He took a deep breath as the corpses started to take their first steps, the first stage of the nightmare. He pinched his leg, punched himself in the face, kneaded his forehead and told himself to just _wake up already._

And to his relief, he did.

There were no more dead bodies. Only his ceiling, and the stuffed panda he'd brought from home as a keepsake. Yao sighed and rolled over in bed to glance at the window. There was no gap of light streaming in from behind the curtains, meaning that it must have still been the wee hours of the morning. He yawned. Normally, he was an early riser, but today he really just felt like sleeping in and forgetting all about his shift at the restaurant. But then again, going back to sleep might mean having the same wretched dream again.

His phone was buzzing. Groggily, he reached out and groped for it on his bedside table, managing to get to it after just ten seconds. Scowling, he held it up to his face. The light from the screen almost blinded him.

Someone had sent him a text message. He read it, still squinting because of the bright light. The message was rather longer than the ones he was used to, and there was no return number. _Don't forget that with you, dreams have a deeper meaning, _read the message in Mandarin. He sighed and put the phone back down.

Messages from the dead had become a part of his life, ever since he'd received his very first cell phone. They didn't faze him anymore. Sure, other people tended to get a bit weirded out when he mentioned it casually in conversation, but for the most part Yao knew that people didn't believe him. It didn't matter much. _He _knew he was talking to the dead, despite the rather unconventional method being used here. He'd asked once when the spirits had learned to use text messaging, but to this day he'd never received a clear reply to that.

"Fair enough, but I haven't had a prophecy come true since I was a child. Now my predictions are always wrong. I think I'm losing my touch." He whispered it, because it felt wrong to make noise in the silence of his apartment. Still, though, the sounds of New York City's night life could be heard from the street. His phone vibrated again. He looked at it.

_Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps you are becoming more powerful as time goes by?_

Yao actually laughed at this, although the sound was still thick and hoarse from having just woken up. "With all due respect, what part of that did you not understand? I said that things_don't _come true for me anymore. I'm not looking into the future. I think I just have an over-active imagination."

There was quiet for a while, and Yao wondered if he had offended the spirit with his harsh words. Well, he hadn't really _been_ harsh, but the spirits were understandably old-fashioned and took offence at the slightest hint of disrespect.

Contrary to his fears, however, his phone buzzed again after about five minutes. He almost snatched it up, ready to apologise for his rudeness. He was a good Chinese man after all, and respecting his elders was in his nature. But instead of the admonishing he'd expected, the message actually made him smile.

"Okay, maybe you're right," he said, chucking the phone aside and burrowing back under the covers. He had a long day of work ahead of him, so he'd try and get some more sleep under his belt, nightmares be damned. "I won't abandon all hope just yet, alright?" he continued. His speech turned into incoherent mumbling as he drifted off once more. "I'll listen to you."

In less than ten minutes, he had fallen back into the arms of sleep. He'd have no more nightmares that night, although tomorrow was probably going to be a different story. His phone lay on the ground next to his bed, silent for the rest of the night. For a full minute, the light stayed on, displaying the message still on the screen.

_Your ability is to see into the future, Yao. Exactly how far into the future is anyone's guess. Be ready._


	8. Chapter 5: Tuesday Evening

**AS I HAVE BEEN DISCUSSING WITH ANGELSxDEMONS.**

**I've decided Poland/Raphael is definitely the archangel of ponies. That's all he wanted, but he ended up taking on Healing as well since God told him he couldn't be one of his top four angels and only be in charge of a type of small horse. So now he does both.**

**He woulda been the archangel of unicorns but Arthur took that post.**

* * *

In a pretty impressive-looking stupor, the angel named Alfred was scratching his head. He had long since given up on running around in random directions and calling his father's name, realising that it was unlikely to work. Two hours of asking around had yielded few results. Most people had not seen Arthur all day. Alfred had even tried asking _God _where his father had gone, and God had no idea (but He didn't look happy, seeing as Arthur most definitely had work to do).

Alfred looked up and realised that his wandering had taken him to the gates of Heaven. He looked around and noticed an old angel sitting on a chair at the entrance, playing his harp and humming to himself. He approached the angel wearily.

"Hey, pops," he greeted the man who had been there since before time began. The guard nodded at him and continued playing his harp. Alfred took this as a signal to continue.

"Have you seen my dad- uhm, Arthur around by any chance? You know, shorter than me, blond, green eyes, huge eyebrows, really stuffy guy? He carries people to Heaven all the time."

The guard hummed thoughtfully and didn't cease once in his playing. "Mmm. Left l'st night. W'th a dem'n."

"Demon?" Alfred frowned. "What demon? Are you talking about the old French guy?"

"Mmm. L'tf together. Demon w's carrying y'r dad o'er his shoulder like s'me kind a girl. Carted h'm 'ff s'mewhere without lookin' back."

Alfred was horrified. "He got taken away by a demon? Was he struggling? Was he hurt?"

The guard shook his head calmly. "'E w's real still. L'ked t'me like he was sleepin'."

"Oh my Lord." Alfred fell backward so that he was sitting, grabbing at his hair in distress. "ARTIE! You useless old man, you got drugged and kidnapped?"

"Nev'r s'd that-"

"MY IDIOT DAD GOT KIDNAPPED! What am I gonna do?" Alfred wailed, rolling around in panic. The guard decided to ignore him. Alfred continued talking to himself.

"I knew no good would come of hanging around with that demon guy, even if he could cook awesomely and way better than Arthur! Dammit, my dad's useless! I have to go save him!"

He jumped up and leapt off the edge of Heaven, almost forgetting to flap his wings in the process. Where would a demon go? Hell, of course. If he had to go through Hell's awful queues and back, he'd do it to save his stupid dad! He'd be the hero!

The guard to Heaven's gate watched Alfred go in silence. He sighed once and strummed his harp.

Utter foolishness. This is why he never bothered to listen to anyone less than two thousand years old.

* * *

Meanwhile, Francis was carrying a comatose Arthur on his back, cursing the fact that the angel was a lot heavier than he looked. Of course, being a demon, Francis did have considerable strength, but the wings on Arthur's back added a lot to his weight. Of all the angels, Arthur had the largest wingspan (other than the messenger Gabriel) because he had to do the most flying as he carried souls from Earth to the Heavens.

Arthur mumbled something in his sleep, having decided to go back to being drunk after God had left. More than once, Francis considered dropping the angel on the ground and going off on a holiday by himself, but decided against it. Holidaying alone would be no fun. Well it would, actually, and he'd be able to pick up more pretty girls without Arthur around to dampen the atmosphere, but being able to see the angel pass out drunk and then laugh at him the next day, _every day, _was worth the effort of having to physically carry him.

Deciding to forgo having to go back to Hell to gather his belongings, the demon decided instead to open a portal directly to Europe. If he or the angel needed anything, he figured he could simply miracle them into existence. Materializing inanimate objects was a perk that came with the profession. And he still needed to ask Feliciano to take over his job as ferryman, but he could always do that by phone. He shifted Arthur around, taking the phone out of his pocket and flipping it open.

The number he dialled was only three digits long. It rang four times before someone picked up. Francis cleared his throat and started to talk.

"Feliciano! It's me. There is something very important that I need you to do for me..."

Arthur had specifically requested to go to England first, but since the angel was asleep, Francis took them to France instead.

* * *

Feliciano swivelled around in his chair, marvelling at how the room spun. All the lights and the paintings and the furniture melded together into one delightful, colourful blur. He stopped, regained his balance and swivelled again.

"Incredible," he whispered.

He was interrupted by an intrusive ringing. He stopped in his chair and looked around, wondering what could be making such an awful noise. He lifted his legs to check under the chair. He checked under the table. He looked at the walls. All the time, the mysterious ringing noise continued. Feliciano wondered if the noise was in his head. It would not have been the first time he was hearing things.

A demon looked up from his desk. "Phone, Feliciano,'" he rolled his eyes and got back to work. Feliciano gasped. Of course, the telephone! He was a stranger to that odd device. He rifled through the jungle on his desk before locating the familiar flashing light. He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Feliciano! It's me. I have something important I need you to do for me."

Feliciano opened his mouth to ask who was speaking, and wondered why the speaker sounded out of breath.

"Feliciano, listen carefully," said the voice, effectively cutting his question off. Feliciano listened.

"I'm not going to work for a while. I'm going somewhere. I'll be in Europe, but don't try to contact me. Tell people that I have some very important business to attend to. I'm kidnapping an angel and this mission is of the utmost importance, so I don't want to be disturbed. Do you understand, _cher?"_

"Uhm-"

"Good. Now this is the important thing, Feliciano. I need you to take over my job for me until I get back. Can you do that? You have to cover for me till I get back, Feliciano, it's important. It's not hard, you've been with me before and watched me do it. So do you think you can handle it, because I don't know anyone else who's free."

"Alright but-"

A sigh of relief was heard through the other end. "Thank the Devil for you, Feliciano. I owe you one. I'll buy you something, _oui? _Some sort of souvenir_. __Merci __beaucoup." _Without another word, and without waiting for a reply from Feliciano, the person on the phone hung up. There was silence. Feliciano blinked at the phone, and eventually shrugged.

"Have a nice time in Europe, Mr. Telephone," he said, and hung up too.

* * *

**Each chapter is just getting stupider and stupider OTL**

**I'd be eternally grateful if you'd leave me a comment. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Have a nice day! :D **


	9. Chapter 6: Wednesday morning

**YEAH OKAY LISTEN. I wrote this chapter to go after the one with Gilbert, but upon further reflection I've realised that it would actually go better BEFORE Gilbert. So yeah, here it is. Sorry for being a dumbass again :B**

* * *

Hell has changed a lot in the last century.

The boat ride to the gates of Hell is the same as it has ever been. The River Styx will probably remain as cold and incredibly grey as it has always been, until kingdom come. The devil likes for some things to stay the same.

The customary ride in Hell's ferry (a gaudy thing decorated with human skulls and bones and whatnot) is also the same. In the Styx itself, lost souls wail and claw at the edges of the boat, desperately seeking salvation in some way. Heaven stopped being impressed with them millennia ago, however, because they know for a fact that these 'lost souls' are really just a bunch of demons in grey facepaint, and whenever Hell's ferry is on its way down the Styx, they all have to scramble off the banks of the river to hop in the water and begin moaning like they have been stuck there for all eternity. More than once Arthur has noticed a forgotten bottle of whiskey sitting abandoned by the river.

But upon alighting from the ferry, instead of the customary wrought-iron gates one would expect, one would instead be greeted with a set of glass doors that slide open noiselessly. Cerberus would not be there, which is a pity because Hell's guard dog is really quite cuddly when you got to know it.

One should, at that point, stop at the doors, pausing to look at the decidedly new sign adorning the top. It reads, **CORPSE CORPS.**

If asked about this, Francis would shrug his shoulders nonchalantly. "The Devil has got it into His head that it will be a nice change for Hell to emulate the workings of an office. He says torturing lost souls is a business, after all, and should be treated as such."

"This seems awfully _human_, though," one would respond. Francis would scratch behind his ear and laugh.

"Apparently we have a lot to learn from humans when it comes to torturing other humans. They are a strange species. There is nothing we could do to them that they do not already do to themselves."

"So, how do you torture them then?" one would ask.

"They wait in line to get papers stamped by a demon on duty. And once that's done, they go join a different line to get their papers stamped again."

"And then?"

"Nothing. They do this for all eternity."

And one would pause then, imagining a fate like this, and one would shudder. "Does everyone get the same punishment?" one would ask, thinking of rapists and murderers and wondering if it is really fair at all. And Francis would shake his head slowly, evidently uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Listen, I don't want to scare you," he would say, leaning in to whisper. "I do not know what goes on exactly, but I do know one thing. Sometimes the Devil finds humans who are pure evil. Really, truly evil. And He does not like it, because the kind of evil that He finds sometimes _should not_ exist. These are the kind of people who make God despair, who make Him weep because humanity was never meant to turn out like this. It is a terrible thing to see God weep, because even though He is almighty, in spirit He is a child. And He cannot bring himself to punish his children. He cannot even bring himself to _accept_ them as his children. And that is when the Devil must take over these monsters in the shape of man, and even _He_ feels disgust. The Devil is not particularly bad, you know. He is actually quite fair. But He does not like this. You can see it, even though His face is always the same. All I know is that despite all these new-fangled ideas of treating Hell like a business, there are some that He still keeps locked away somewhere to deal with Himself."

"That's terrible..." one would say, although terrible would not really be the word you'd want to use.

And Francis would turn to you and smile, teeth glinting in a way that enamel should not. "It's Hell."

* * *

Arthur woke up with a raging headache, cursing mentally until he realised that he was an angel, and could just banish the pain. He sat up and looked around. Francis was sitting next to him on the sidewalk of a busy street, sipping at a glass of wine.

"Where are we?" Arthur asked, immediately suspicious. Inconspicuously, he tried to check that both his kidneys were still intact. Francis snorted at him and the glass dematerialized.

"Good morning, _ange._ You have slept for quite a while. I was beginning to think I would be out here all day. And to answer your question, we are outside our hotel. I would have brought you inside, but that would have required me to carry you. That would have been extremely suspicious, no? As far as I remember, humans do not take too kindly to people dragging around other people who might or might not be in a state to defend themselves. That poor receptionist might think me some sort of sex predator."

"I find that to be quite an accurate description," huffed Arthur, standing up. His joints creaked slightly. He happened to glance at a street sign, and realised that it was not in English.

"You bloody-!" he cried, aiming a swift kick and Francis and probably giving him a clear view up his toga. "I told you I wanted to go to England. You took us to France, didn't you? Git, I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!"

Francis coughed as the angel's foot managed to connect with his stomach. He stood up abruptly and hopped back to get out of kicking rage. He wrung his hands in an attempt to placate the raging angel. "What's done is done, _ange_. Let s make the best of it! Come, we need to go inside if we are to book a room-"

"Two rooms," interjected Arthur.

"We shall see," continued Francis smoothly. "But before we make ourselves visible, you need to change out of your clothes so you do not look like something out a gay parade, not that I really have any problem with that. But the humans might find it odd." He snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the reality around the angel's clothes began to ripple, changing colours and rearranging things until he found himself wearing a simple dress shirt and a pair of slacks. Arthur looked down to inspect his shoes. They were Oxfords. His socks were green.

Francis led the way into the hotel, a little place by the river Senne. He melted into existence, as did Arthur. Nobody noticed them. The demon sidled up to the counter and began to converse with the pretty receptionist in fluent French. He gestured to Arthur a few times and the receptionist laughed, making the angel want to slap Francis, but he kept his temper under control. When asked for their names, Francis supplied a couple of fake last names without batting an eyelid, handing over a credit card that was accepted without any trouble. Arthur wondered how he felt about the name Kirkland.

They were led up to their bedroom- "Bleeding idiot, I told you to get two rooms, didn't I?"- "Well since we are in France I thought it might be nice to pay for this particular trip myself, and I cannot afford two rooms, excuse me for trying to do something nice!"- which, to Francis's delight, was very tasteful, if a bit small. Not having any luggage to unpack, the first thing the demon did was to draw back the curtains and expose them both to a lovely view of the most famous river in France. In the distance, the Eiffel tower was clearly visible.

As Francis launched off into an excited speech about the wonders of France and how Arthur should repent for being so English, the angel found himself drifting off. In the privacy of his mind, he realised that this was going to be a very, very long trip.

* * *

Alfred burst through the doors of Hell, eyes aflame in righteous fury, arms drawn back and charged with angelic energy, ready to Smite some poor demon scum into oblivion.

Or he tried to, anyway. He didn't really notice that Hell had installed sliding doors, so they actually opened for him before he could barrel into them. Without anything to crash into, momentum carried him all the way across the lobby and into a wall. His shirt flew up over his head.

The demons carried on with their work. Feliciano clapped.

Alfred stood up and flipped his clothes back down with as much dignity as he could. "Which one of you demon scumbags has my fathe- has the angel Arthur?" he demanded to the room at large.

Nobody answered. Alfred cleared his throat.

"Uh, hello? I'm asking a question. Seriously. I'd really appreciate it if someone answered. I'm looking for a guy named Arthur, Artie for short? Short, kinda skinny, great big wings?"

A few demons glared at him disapprovingly. One of them shushed him.

Put out, Alfred wandered over to the receptionist's desk in the hope that someone could be more helpful.

"Hi," said Feliciano, pleasantly enough. Alfred flashed him a grin.

"Hey. Uhm, you think you could help a guy out? I'm looking for my old man. Rumour has it he was dragged out of Heaven by one of you."

"One of who?"

"You. I mean, demons," replied Alfred, gesturing vaguely at the rest of the room. The demon receptionist stared at him for a while. He was thinking.

Feliciano's eyes suddenly widened. "Was he an angel? The man you want back?"

"Yeah, he was."

Feliciano looked down at the telephone, then back up at Alfred. Could this just be a coincidence? "I.. _think_ I know who took him."

Alfred straightened up immediately, excitement plain as daylight. "You know who it was? Tell me!"

There was a pause. "It was the telephone," whispered Feliciano conspiratorially, as though he were divulging some great secret. Almost immediately, he wondered if he had said too much.

"The telephone," Alfred deadpanned, excitement gone. Feliciano nodded vigorously.

"Yes! The voice in the telephone told me that he was kidnapping an angel and I shouldn't tell anyone. Oh, but I just told you, didn't I." Feliciano's face fell.

Alfred kept his face tactfully blank, wanting to slap Feliciano but somehow sensing that he was telling what he thought was the truth. "Okay. Uhm. Well. Then, Mr. Telephone should probably give my dad back, shouldn't he?"

Feliciano shrugged. "I don't know. I can't tell Mr. Telephone what to do."

Alfred facepalmed. He contemplated leaving the receptionist and going to talk to the Devil himself, but suddenly remembered an important piece of information. His head jerked upright.

"Hey, uhm, you! What's your name?"

"Feliciano."

"Right, Feliciano, listen. Forget about Mr. Telephone for a while. You can help me some other way. There's a demon who works here. He's French, or at least he pretends to be. My dad hangs out with him a lot. He's supposed to be really old. I don't remember for sure what he does but it's not really high up the corporate ladder, if you know what I mean."

Feliciano tilted his head sideways, considering this. "A French man? I think I know a French man. His name is Francis. He likes to use funny words that I don't understand. Also he likes to hug a lot, he says it's because we're friends. But his hugs are weird though. His hands go _pat pat pat_ on my-"

Alfred's left eye twitched a little. "I see. Maybe you shouldn't let him hug you anymore."

Feliciano shrugged again. Alfred forced a grin.

"So I need to see that Francis. Where can I find him?"

Feliciano's face scrunched up in thought. "He hasn't come in to work since yesterday. I don't know where he is. But his job is to transport dead people. Maybe he's doing that?"

"How could he be doing that if he's not even in Hell...wait," Alfred suddenly looked distant, the cogs in his mind beginning to turn (and squeak a little because they were rusty).

Francis's job was to Transport the dead. That would mean that this Francis person was really The Ferryman for the river Styx, right? Well, that wasn't a very big deal. But Transporting the dead was a continuous job and one could not afford to slack off. Alfred knew that much from watching Arthur, who had the same job. However, Francis had disappeared. Presumably, this was because he had an even more important job to do. However, the guard at the gate had told him that Francis would be with Arthur. Francis had a job more important to do than being a Ferryman, and this job had something to do with Alfred's father.

What would the Ferryman want with an angel? He could not possible want to Transport Arthur, could he? Of course not.

_Could he?_

Alfred's jaw slackened as realisation hit him, like the bus had that one time he wandered out of Heaven and into Greece by accident. The Ferryman had left his job because he had a new assignment; this time he had to Ferry an angel. But why would he be gone so long, then? Perhaps he had to subdue Arthur first? But (as much as the thought made him uncomfortable) if Arthur were meant to be Transported, there would be no struggle. So did that mean that Arthur had to actually be killed first?

Was Francis off on an assignment to kill Arthur?

Alfred froze, glassy-eyed, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in. Oh God. It was a good thing he was such a super-amazing detective, otherwise nobody would have ever figured out what had happened to poor Arthur. But wait! He'd been missing for more than a day now, hadn't he? Had that been enough time for the deed to be done? Was Alfred too late?

Feliciano waved a hand in front of Alfred, wondering if he was having "special alone time" like how Francis did sometimes. He decided to wait until the angel woke up on his own. It took about five minutes before Alfred finally snapped out of it.

"ARTHUR'S DEAD!" he shrieked, attracting attention from several passing demons and nearly destroying Feliciano's eardrums.

"What?" Feliciano asked, eyes immediately filling up with tears even though he did not really know who Arthur was. Alfred's jaw was set in determination. He placed a hand on Feliciano's shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"Feliciano. My father has been killed. Well he wasn't really my father, I mean he sort of found me and fed me and stuff, but I didn't really like him all that much because he was an old grouch and he was a terrible cook and he was sort of stifling and overprotective and he thought I was stupid, but it's the principle of the thing, you understand. So basically what I'm trying to say is that it's my duty to go avenge his death now, even though I'd kind of rather be doing other more important things, but you know it has to be done anyway and well I don't think I can do it alone. Are you with me, Feliciano?"

"Yes," Feliciano sobbed, not really understanding.

"Good." Alfred turned around, forcibly turning Feliciano with him, and headed to the exit. "We're off on a quest, and there will be no returning until Arthur's death is avenged." Feliciano nodded miserably, still upset over the death of someone he didn't know. Alfred patted his shoulder consolingly. Just before they reached the door, Alfred turned around.

"This won't be the last you see of me," he addressed the lobby at large, a fire in his eyes and strength in his voice. "I will avenge my father's death, for I am a hero and that is what heroes do. You, scourge of the Earth, shall pay for the evil you have done upon an innocent servant of Heaven. After I am done with the French bastard, I will be back for all of you. And I shall take on the Devil himself if I need to, to defend my father's honour. Prepare yourselves." He turned around and left.

The demons ignored him and went back to their work.

* * *

**CATS. FUCKING CATS. FUCKING CATS EVERYWHERE.**

**LIKE LITERALLY FUCKING CATS. CATS SCREWING AROUND OUTSIDE MY HOUSE AT FIVE THIRTY EVER MORNING. I'M TRYING TO TAKE A SHOWER AND ALL I HEAR IS MEOW MEOW FUCKING MEOW. OH YEAH BABY UNF UNF RIGHT THERE. **

**SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING CATS NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR YOU GETTING LUCKY BEFORE THE SUN'S EVEN COME UP. GET A FUCKING HOTEL OR I'LL COME OUT THERE IN MY TOWEL AND SPLASH COLD WATER ALL OVER YOU. **

**Fucking cats.**


	10. Chapter 7: Still Wednesday morning

**HAY YOU GUYS LISTEN. The next chapter is actually up. But after reading it again I realised that it would actually look a lot better BEFORE this chapter, although it has no effect on the plot it helps with the flow. So forgive my fail again and to read the new chapter I've posted, do go on to the previous chapter where the next chappie REALLY is.**

**Yeah and I still have exams by the way lol. Actually they'll be going on till next Friday LE SIGH. So fucking long OTL I just want the holidays to come.**

* * *

Gilbert sighed and shut the door of the cage, mentally drowning out the ramblings of his manager. Inside, a small yellow budgie chirped at him. He smiled at the bird, affectionately nicknamed Gilbird, before turning around dutifully to listen to the man who paid him. As was his habit, he allowed his mind to wander as his sense of hearing was assaulted. He didn't find it difficult; people were often yelling in his general vicinity, usually _at_ him.

A few words of Mr. Fritz's prattle filtered through his psyche, and he vaguely registered what it was the man was yelling about. Six huge crates of beans had mysteriously found their way into Central Park Zoo, along with a confused-looking grocer, and extensive investigation had traced those beans back to him.

Gilbert sighed and shrugged his shoulders; he'd really been supposed to write "six bears", but how could Fritz really blame him for this? Gilbert was the bird guy, he wasn't supposed to be filling out reports. And the admin had this coming to them if they expected a dyslexic to do their paperwork for them. Really, Gilbert mused sourly, it was a good thing he'd managed to get "six" correct. His dyslexia was so bad that he even tended to get i's and e's mixed up sometimes, and_ that_ could have been a cause for a lot of embarrassment.

Nodding grudgingly that he would go and take care of it, he sighed and wandered over to the grocer's truck. If he was lucky, he'd be able to play off this little embarrassment as something completely intentional. He could pretend that the beans were meant for the staff. With a bit of luck, the grocer might buy that.

Speaking of which, the man was standing in the back of the vehicle, and turned just as Gilbert held a hand up in greeting. The grocer shrugged in response. "You ordered them, you gonna buy 'em?"

Gilbert thought this over. Did any animals he knew eat beans? There were the goats. He didn't really know what goats ate, but one of them had tried to eat his wallet once so he was pretty sure they could survive some beans. He turned and gestured to his boss. Gilbert would have happily requested that the beans be given to the goats, but then again it was probably better to let Fritz decide. Absently, he looked into the back of the truck to inspect the produce. If his luck was anything to go by, he'd end up the one having to take these infernal things home, and he'd never hear the end of it from his brother. He reached into the back.

The truck was old and the straps securing the coolers to together were not as strong as they used to be. Gilbert, of course, had no way of knowing this, and before the grocer had time to shout a warning, he'd already tugged on one of the straps experimentally.

It gave way under his grasp, and almost in slow-motion, the crates tumbled out of the back of the truck and onto the unsuspecting zoo worker, killing him instantly.

'What a fucking stupid way to die,' was the last thought Gilbert had time for before his vision turned black.

* * *

Loud voices and panicked shouts tore through the darkness. Gilbert, already feeling a splitting headache approaching, opened his eyes grudgingly. He knew without having to check that they were bloodshot; he felt just as bad as he did when he went out on a drinking binge with his friends.

He croaked, beginning to shift a little. Fritz was standing over him, yelling, and the grocer was wringing his hands in despair. Gilbert caught mentions of "911" before he finally stopped seeing double.

Shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness, he tried hauling himself into a sitting position and flashing a weak grin. He felt like he'd been hit with six crates of soggy beans. The crowd around him was rapidly growing. He blinked and tired to clear his throat.

Strangely, people hadn't even noticed that he had moved. Had he been too soft? The thought seemed ludicrous, because Gilbert had a voice that could crack cement. He stood up shakily, dusted himself off and wobbled a little for added effect. Nobody even glanced at him.

He opened his mouth again to complain loudly that nobody was paying him any attention, but then glanced down…

… and abruptly stopped talking when the first thing he saw was a crumpled, bloody mess in a white T-shirt.

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to get past the ring of heads to get a closer look. Two of his coworkers had managed to lift one of the heavy crates, and Gilbert was unpleasantly surprised to see his own albino face looking back at him.

There was nothing he could say as people continued to swarm around him, lifting his doppelganger off the ground and checking for vital signs. A sense of morbid curiosity overwhelmed him, and he looked down to check his own state of being. There was indeed blood all over his shirt, although he didn't feel any worse for wear.

He patted himself down, glancing every so often at the corpse that apparently used to be him. Nobody bothered to talk to him. Nobody pointed or gasped or screamed, alerting the zoo that he'd just bravely gotten straight back up after being squashed by a crate.

Was he a ghost?

That would make some sense, he mused. After all, he'd just been flattened by several hundred pounds of produce and he could see his own body bleeding profusely. Nobody could see him, either. The _real_ him. Not the corpse.

He turned and looked around, searching for an ethereal beam of light or something to direct him to where he was supposed to go. _Can't be spending all my time here,_ he figured.

Nothing much seemed different from usual, except that the Earth seemed a bit flatter and less colourful, almost a though he were looking at the world through a window. He tilted his head from side to side like some confused bird, suddenly noticing something that he had never seen before in the city.

There appeared to be a large gate in sitting the middle of nowhere. It hadn't been there before, and as Gilbert watched, a bird flew right into the entrance and right back out again, as though the place wasn't even there.

With a backwards glance, he stepped toward it, head swiveling left and right for any signs of life (or death, as the case may be). Nobody was around. All Gilbert could see was people going about their daily lives, nobody paying him the slightest bit of attention. They didn't even notice the huge-ass doors blocking the view. He came up to it, curious, bemused and a little fearful.

He tried the entrance, although it didn't show any signs of wanting to give way. He tried pushing _and _pulling, but wasn't getting him anywhere. He huffed and stopped trying. Instead he stood around, tapping his feet impatiently and humming under his breath, waiting for someone to show up and explain exactly what being dead was all about.

It took all of half a minute for Gilbert's attention span to start demanding more interesting things of him, and Gilbert turned to saunter away from the mysterious door. Sure, he was probably supposed to be dead, but if the past few minutes had been anything to go by, the afterlife was not all that great.

Someone cleared his throat. Out of habit, he turned, although he realized too late that it was highly unlikely that the noise was directed at him. To his mild surprise, however, there was tall, dark-skinned man standing just a few feet away from the door he'd just tried to enter. He appeared to be looking right at Gilbert. The albino raised his brows.

The man regarded him stoically, eyes more annoyed than anything else. "You dead too?" he asked, rather abruptly. Gilbert was taken aback, but he slowly nodded. If his instinct was anything to go by, he was most definitely dead.

The mysterious man humphed and ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "Figures. I died a whole hour ago. Fell asleep and choked on a cigar. Pretty stupid way to die, huh?"

Gilbert thought of the beans and surprisingly, said nothing.

"I've been waiting here all this time for something to happen," the stranger continued. "I mean, all of a sudden there's this door that wasn't there while I was alive, so it has to have something to do with me being dead an' all, right?"

Gilbert approached cautiously, wanting to know more of what was going on. The other man, seeming to sense his intentions, simply shrugged. "When I showed up there was a crowd waiting to get in. But it didn't take long before they got bored and wandered off. I asked someone where everyone was going, and all he said was that he still had stuff to do, and if nothing was happening then he was gonna go back and do it. But I've been waiting out here like a law-abiding citizen and what do I get? Nothing." He huffed, talking more to himself than to Gilbert. "This is why I hate America. The organization here is crap. To hell with this, I'm going home."

Gilbert pondered this, not bothering to give the man a nod of farewell as he turned and left, walking down the road with his hands in his pockets. Go back? Where exactly would you go back to? The other man hadn't said, but there he was wandering off anyway. And if nobody had come around to collect the dead souls…

Gilbert frowned. No point hanging around if nothing was going to happen. And seeing as nobody seemed to be paying attention to him, it probably wouldn't be the most fun to stand around being dead. Perhaps he'd be better off alive after all. To be fair, he'd given being dead a go and nobody had come to help him out, to offer him a slice of consolation cake or explain the rules to him or anything. How, for example, would he know whether or not he'd get caught for peeping? He'd never know.

He turned around and made his way back to the crowd, where an ambulance had already arrived and was moving his body into the back. Fat lot of good that did when he was already dead. Oh, well. He'd make these ambulance drivers think a miracle had happened.

Hopping in next to his body, ignoring all the people watching with grim expressions and ashen faces, Gilbert sighed and plopped onto the seat next to his physical manifestation. The medics didn't notice him at all as they went back to the front. The engine revved and the ambulance started to move.

_Better try it out now_, he thought, and plunged headfirst into his own chest. Nothing happened for a fair few seconds, and Gilbert was feeling rather silly with just his head sticking into his body.

And then, there was the feeling of being sucked into something, and Gilbert knew he was connected to his body again. It didn't make him terribly happy, but he had the oddest feeling that he'd just cheated a horrible fate.

It didn't feel as though he was alive. It was more as if he were simply inhabiting this body, looking out from the eye sockets as though he were detached, like a parasite looking out through its host's eyes. He was aware of sensations and yet he did not really feel them. He knew, for example, that the stretcher was supporting him, but he didn't truly feel the taut material underneath him, smooth and not entirely comfortable. He shifted around a bit, and he could feel broken bones moving under his skin. It didn't _hurt_, but it didn't feel terribly pleasant either. He let out a low groan and opened his eyes.

* * *

Gilbert's corpse sat up. It was hungry.

* * *

**SO I HAVE LIKE, AN AMBITION. My ambition is to be twenty-one years old. The way I see it that's pretty much a given, so no effort on my part to reach my goal amiright? And if by some sad twist of fate I die before the age of twenty-one, well, I woulda conked off sooner or later and besides, it's not like I'd be around to regret it anyway. HURR.**

**Yeah so I'm not going to update for a bit because I have exams to fail. DON'T LET THAT STOP YOU FROM REVIEWING THOUGH MHMM.**


	11. Chapter 8: Wednesday Afternoon

Alfred sighed and put his pen behind his ear. Nearly a day of questioning everyone in Hell had yielded no results. They were no closer to finding his father and the demon scum who had abducted him. And to make things worse, coupled with the day he had spent questioning people in Heaven, he had already lost two days. Anything could happen in two days. Arthur was as good as dead.

Now, they were sitting on the banks of the River Styx, thinking that this place would be as good as any to look for clues. However, they had searched Francis's ferry inside and out, and had found nothing useful, save for a bottle of whiskey that Alfred had pocketed. Now, he buried his head in his hands and wondered if he'd ever find Arthur.

Feliciano patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, already forgetting what it is they were looking for in the first place. "Need a hug?" he asked. Surprisingly, Alfred didn't argue as he was folded into the not-exactly-a-demon's arms. The display of angel-demon affection earned a few disapproving looks, but Alfred ignored them in favour of burying his head further into Feliciano's narrow shoulder.

"I want my dad," he said told Feliciano's collarbone miserably. Feliciano hummed something in response and continued patting the angel's head. It made him feel like some sort of pet. Somehow, it was soothing.

"Don't worry, we'll find him soon enough. I bet he's just somewhere we haven't looked yet. Like, under a rock or something." Experimentally, he flipped over a rock. Unsurprisingly, he found nothing. He sighed in disappointment. "Okay, maybe not that rock."

Alfred sat up suddenly. "You're right! Even if he's not in Heaven and he's not in Hell, he must be _somewhere,_ right? He can't just have disappeared. Maybe he's on Earth. We just need to figure out a place where they'll likely be. But Earth is a lot bigger than Heaven, though," the angel deflated slightly.

Feliciano shrugged again. "I like bunnies."

"What?"

"I like bunnies. I keep a few Demonic rabbits at home. Sometimes they go missing and I have to look for them. They end up in all sorts of weird places. I found one in Francis's boat once. And once one of them wandered into the Devil's office. I came in and he was sitting in his chair and stroking my rabbit. Poor Olio was scared out of his mind but too afraid to move. And the Devil just smiled pleasantly at me and told me I had a very cute rabbit. It was very scary. I ended up having to let the Devil keep Olio. I still visit him sometimes," Feliciano sniffed.

Alfred stared at him. "What's your point?"

Feliciano tilted his head to the side. "I don't know. I think I was going to say something about how difficult it is to find a lost bunny but it's not impossible. I forgot."

Alfred smiled. "Thanks. For a demon, you're not so bad!" He stood up and dusted off his jeans, offering a hand to Feliciano. He pulled the demon up. "Now let's get down to business. Feliciano, you gotta tell me everything you know about this French guy. Where does he like to go?"

"Pasta shops!" replied Feliciano automatically. Alfred blanched.

"You...really?"

"No, not really," Feliciano admitted. Alfred sighed.

"Well, we've already established that the guy's French. Does he like, have a hometown?" he materialised a notebook and a pencil and began writing. "So we might wanna check out France. That's still a big country," he grimaced. "Well, I guess it's a start. Where else do the workers of Hell like to go? What about Vegas?"

"Satan never invented Vegas," said Feliciano matter-of-factly. "Even though everyone says he did. He did make the slot-machines, though."

Alfred nodded and wrote that down too. "Okay, so Vegas and France. What else? What other places are really evil?"

"Forks."

"That's a place?"

"I don't know."

Alfred sighed and put the pencil back down. "Okay, maybe this isn't working. There has to be another way to find them."

Feliciano nodded. "Never give up!" he said cheerfully. "Did you know that you've been writing with a pencil, but you've actually had a pen behind your ear this whole time?"

"Have I?" Alfred responded absentmindedly. "Listen, I've been thinking, maybe we should go talk to someone who actually knows what they're doing. A big boss, you know?"

Feliciano looked at him innocently. "Really? Like who?"

Alfred chewed his lip thoughtfully and turned back to look at the gates- sliding doors, really- of Hell. "Let's go talk to the Devil."

* * *

Francis winked at a pretty girl across the street, making her giggle and wave back. He smiled at her, but didn't get up from his seat. Next to him, Arthur snorted and took another sip of coffee. He normally hated the stuff, but this was good. It was almost as amazing as the ones they had managed to get in Milan.

They were sitting outside a pretty bistro in Spain, waiting for the running of the bulls to commence. It was a tradition in that country that every year, enraged bulls would be released in a particular street in Spain, and young men would run alongside them and try not to get trampled. It was supposed to be a test of manhood. Arthur thought it was all pointless, really.

"Ah, but _cher_, you cannot deny that there is something incredibly romantic about all of this," Francis gestured. "_Merci,"_ he said to the waitress as she refilled their coffee. She smiled coyly in return and held his gaze a little longer than necessary. Arthur snorted.

"Stop making eyes at people, or you'll find a horde of very angry men after your hide, and I won't be there to help you out. And what's worse is that these poor girls can't be any more than a thousandth of your age, you pervert."

Francis batted his eyelashes at the angel. "I cannot help it if they are attracted to me. Besides, rather than being worried about jealous boyfriends, I'm more worried about the hordes of men that will be coming after _you."_

Arthur was not amused. "If you don't start making sense I'm going to pour my coffee all over you, and then make you pay for a new cup."

Francis laughed. "I'm somewhat surprised you haven't noticed, _ange_, but there are quite a few gentlemen, how did you put it, 'making eyes' in this direction, and for once, it's not me they're interested in."

"What the deuce are you on about?" asked Arthur. Francis took another sip of coffee and pointed behind them. At the demon's gesture, Arthur turned.

There was a dark-skinned, curly-headed waiter standing a few feet away, leaning against the counter. He was looking directly at Arthur. As Arthur turned, the waiter caught his eye and winked suggestively. Arthur looked scandalized.

"Trust me, he's not the only one," said Francis, thoroughly enjoying himself. He smiled at another woman ten feet away. "Come _ange_, I feel like facing down a few bulls, and I don't trust you by yourself. The moment I turn my back you might get molested." He stood up.

"I can bloody well take care of myself," snapped the angel, but followed anyway, if only to get away from the waiter. "Don't draw too much attention to yourself, you show- off. People will get suspicious. I say, come to think of it, are we even allowed to just join in like this?"

Francis didn't answer, instead calmly walking to the middle of the street where a crowd of young men were already waiting. An announcer told the audience in Spanish that the bulls were being released. Francis turned to his companion. "You worry too much, _mon ami_. I only wish to impress the crowd."

An obnoxiously loud air horn blared and the crowd in the street started running. The divine pair didn't bother to move. Arthur looked annoyed, and Francis was unperturbed. The crowd began to fret. What did the two foreigners think they were doing? They were going to get killed! But nobody was willing to go get them out of harm's way, especially since the first bull was already rounding the corner.

Francis grinned back over his shoulder. "Let me show you how it's done, _ange_!"

The bull was _enormous_. Not only was it huge, but it was charging toward Francis with obvious intent to kill (or maim or at least seriously injure). Francis smiled. He stepped aside smartly.

Just as the bull passed him by, wondering where its prey had gone but currently moving with too much momentum to stop and turn, Francis reached out and grabbed the bull's horn. His other hand clenched a wad of fur. With superhuman agility, he swung himself onto the bull's back. The crowd gasped.

"See? Simple!" laughed the demon, bowing to the applauding audience. The bull bucked, trying to dislodge him from its back. Francis didn't stop laughing, and had to hold onto the its horns to keep from being thrown off. "The second one is coming, _ange_! Your turn!"

Indeed, as Arthur turned, there was another bull coming round the corner. It was not as big as the first, but it seemed just as angry. It noticed the lone figure standing in its path, and naturally decided that this would be the first kill (or maim or serious injury) of the day. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"What do you think you're looking at?" he asked, not bothering to take his hands out of his pockets. The bull's eyes widened and it stopped running, unsure of what to do in the face of angelic Scorn (which was pretty damn scathing, because they have this _Look _that makes you feel horrible and really guilty even if you've done nothing wrong). It skidded to a halt involuntarily, looking surprised.

Arthur flicked a finger at it. "Sod off."

The beast ambled off and sat down, looking rather put-out. The crowd was silent. They were probably just as confused as the bull was. Meanwhile, Francis was still hanging off of the bucking bronco and laughing his head off.

"What a let-down!" he called, managing to direct the mad (and getting madder by the second) bull in the angel's direction. "Don't be so boring, we're on vacation! Let's have some excitement, some fun!" He extended a hand downward toward Arthur. The angel wondered how he was expected to grab it when Francis couldn't keep the damned cow still for a second.

The crowd cheered him on. Arthur looked back at them. He noticed the waiter from before, the young man's eyes positively shining with admiration. The angel felt himself puff up a little despite himself. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, why not." He grabbed Francis's hand and, against his better judgement, allowed himself to be swung onto the back of a raging bull.

* * *

**Oh, I have absolutely no idea when the real running of the bull commences. Nor do I care. CREATIVE LICENCE FTW. Lol not really. 'Snot like anyone really reads this anyway.**

**Buhyooo! Dat waiter!**


	12. Chapter 9: Wednesday evening

**Yeah, quick update whoot. I seem to get an influx of reviews within two days, and then utter silence HAHA.**

**Anway. The arrival of Satan! (finally)**

* * *

The elevator doors opened, allowing classy jazz to filter out into the lobby, and the angel and demon stepped inside. Alfred took a look at the panel of buttons. "Do the numbers go higher as you go deeper into Hell?" he asked. Feliciano nodded.

"We're on the first floor now. But look, that right there," he indicated a finger to the very lowest button, "is level 999. The Devil's office."

Alfred frowned and looked at the army of buttons. Excluding the lowest level, there were exactly 665 floors. "Why is his number 999? Why not 666? It would make sense. Plus there's the whole 'number of the beast' thing. 666 is sort of his signature, isn't it?"

Feliciano shrugged his shoulders again. "I think Francis said once that He doesn't want to be associated with that number. It is too cliché. Francis says that perhaps He is just trying to break out of the stereotype that has become His. Or, maybe, they installed the button upside down. I don't know."

The doors opened again as they reached their destination. Floor number 999 was a simple enough affair. It was furnished to the bare minimum, but tastefully so. The walls were black. The furniture was black. Everything, really, was black. Except for the carpet, which was white. Alfred wondered what the reasoning behind this was. Wouldn't the carpet just get dirty anyway? Perhaps it was enchanted so that wouldn't happen. Or perhaps all who entered the Devil's office were commanded to wipe their feet first, on pain of everlasting torture. Alfred couldn't help but imagine what it was like when God was down here. He would probably trail dirt all over the floor just to be annoying.

Ever since Lucifer had left Heaven and changed His name to Satan, the Devil had been kind of a sore spot for God. With good reason, one would imagine.

Alfred shook his head to clear his thoughts. He knew that he was just allowing himself to drift off into a world of nonsense to distract himself from what felt like impending danger. Every step he took towards the door to the Devil's private office felt like stepping on daggers. Well, figuratively. His stomach seemed to have fallen out of his body somewhere in the lift, and for some reason his hands had suddenly decided that there was not enough moisture in the world and they should do their part to help out.

Next to him, Feliciano had gone from merely shivering to a full-blown shake. Alfred could almost hear the poor boy's knees knocking together. For the sake of them both, Alfred steeled himself and put on his best smile. The smile of a hero.

Had it been anyone else, Alfred would have entered straight away, but despite not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, Alfred did not have a death wish. He knocked first on the teak door. Each thump sounded ominous.

"Enter." The voice that answered was pleasant, but Alfred thought he felt his heart stop for a second. He opened the door. Feliciano tried to bolt, but Alfred held him fast and dragged him into the room.

He did not see the Devil. Instead, all he saw was the back of a chair in a dramatically darkened room. "I've been expecting you," said Satan loftily. The chair swivelled around slowly, very slowly. The Devil was stroking a small black rabbit. He smiled at them, a sweet, paralyzing smile that had Alfred silently praying. In the background, Alfred though he could hear jarring violin music that was making him shake even more. He wondered if he was going mad.

"Oh? Expecting us?" he managed, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. The Devil laughed.

"No, not really. I just like to do that for dramatic effect." He clapped His hands and the lights went on. Initially, Alfred was glad, but he suddenly wished the lights would go back off.

The Devil was a normal-enough looking man. He was big, though. Were He to stand up, Alfred knew the Devil would tower over him. He had a childlike face and platinum blonde hair and dimples, and His smile did not ever fade. Even His voice was pleasant.

But those _eyes._

They were grey, so grey they were almost purple. And despite the Devil's smile, His eyes spoke of death. No, perhaps not Death. Death was not a bad person once you got to know Her, even if She was rather morbid (understandibly so, really).

Despair was a better word. Those eyes positively _shone_. It felt like He was looking right through Alfred, stripping him of everything and baring his soul, checking out his insides and finding out every dark secret Alfred had. Automatically, Alfred felt his hands moving to cover his privates. Feliciano whimpered.

Alfred realised that the music had not stopped. He looked around and realised there was a solemn-faced trio standing in the corner, playing a cello and two violins. Satan noticed Alfred looking at the men. "My personal musicians," He said by way of explanation. "I feel that a ruler is allowed to have a few indulgences, you know? I like to have a soundtrack to my life. I think it's justified. I'm like the Ozzy Osbourne of the Otherworld after all," He laughed softly to himself, making Alfred shudder.

"I remember you," He said suddenly to Feliciano.

Feliciano froze. The Devil smiled. "You gave me this sweet little rabbit," He indicated the -rather squeamish- animal in his lap. Feliciano nodded jerkily. Alfred cleared his throat. The Devil redirected his attention to the angel.

"What can I help you with?" Satan inquired politely, tilting His head toward the chairs situated in front of His desk. On the desk, there was a small placard saying, "BOSS". Alfred noticed that the Devil was dressed for winter.

Forcing his legs to move, Alfred managed to make his way across the room without stumbling, forcibly dragging the poor frightened demon behind him. He sank into the chair, relieved, but immediately regretted it. Sure, it was comfy, but it had brought him within _touching distance of Satan oh God what was he even doing here-_

Satan cleared His throat. "I sense you have something important to talk about? I trust you would not have come into my office without good reason. I am a busy man, you know," the Devil laughed, but His eyes flashed dangerously. Alfred swallowed.

"Actually, yeah. I'm looking for someone. I've been searching for days now and I haven't gotten anywhere. I thought You might be able to help."

Satan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? This person you're looking for, is he someone I know? He must be important, if it needed an angel to come all the way down to Hell."

"It was my father." Alfred's face turned grim. "He's been missing for ages. The guard at Heaven's gate told me that he saw Arthur being dragged out of Heaven by one of your demons. Judging by his description, I have reason to believe that the demon in question is the Ferryman." Alfred's voice didn't falter once. Mentally, he congratulated himself.

Satan was intrigued. "Really? Arthur, Arthur. I think I have heard of him. He's the Transporter, isn't he? The angelic counterpart to my Francis."

Alfred nodded. Feliciano quaked.

"And you say my demon stole him? Hmm. How very curious. I'm afraid I can't help you, though. Sorry."

Anger very nearly overwhelmed the fear Alfred felt for the Devil. "What do You mean, You can't help me? He's _Your_ demon, shouldn't You be taking notice of what he does?" In the background, the violins became suspenseful.

Satan tilted His head and smiled sweetly, eyes beginning to take on a wicked gleam. "Now, what people do with their private lives has nothing to do with me," He said. "I can't be held responsible for what my employees do. And let me explain something, my poor misplaced angel. Right now, you are in Hell. Bad is good, and good is bad. My employees receive commendations for every evil deed they manage to commit. So, strictly speaking, I cannot punish my demon for kidnapping an angel. I would not want to punish him. Unjust behaviour like this is exactly what we're looking for, here in Hell."

Alfred stood up abruptly, ignoring Feliciano's whimper of protest. "That's all fine and dandy, but frankly speaking I don't give a, dare I say it, damn. I don't care what Your cheesy demons do to get a raise. My dad didn't do anything. For all I know Your demon could have killed him! I'm not asking for much, just tell Your guy to give my dad back!"

"_Silence_," said Satan, standing up slowly. He towered over both Alfred by at least a foot. He stared the boy down, eyes gleaming a dangerous shade of what could only be called silver. "You would barge into my domain and make demands of me?" His voice took on a very slight warning tone, and Alfred had to fight to keep his knees from buckling in fear. Feliciano had already curled up on himself and started sobbing.

The Devil held Alfred's gaze for a full minute. The angel refused to look away or even blink, even as he felt his insides being turned to ice and his legs turn to jelly. The Devil regarded him unblinkingly. Alfred's eyes began to water, but he forced himself to stare back into the abyss.

Silence.

The Devil laughed. It was light and melodious and very chilling. "You are very brave. Very brave and very stupid. I quite like you, so I will not kill you. As for your father, I have no idea where he is. I don't even know where Francis went. But I have more important things to do than to run after him. If you see them both, tell Francis to get back to work, and tell your father that his son will either go very far, or get killed very early in life."

Alfred could finally blink.

"Now _get out_ of my office before I change my mind about sparing you."

Deciding that it was better not to argue, Alfred grabbed Feliciano and scarpered to a distant reproach of _"I was in the middle of an intimidating stand-off and I would _appreciate_ if you would actually play something instead of standing around like a bunch of golems."_

The angel shut the door behind him. Feliciano collapsed onto the ground, biting his lip and looking like he was going to burst into tears. He clung to the bottom of Alfred's jacket. Alfred patted him on the head. "Sorry about that, little buddy," he said. His tone was placating, but even as he spoke, he could feel the rage beginning to build up again.

So He was gonna play like that, was He? Wash His hands off of Alfred just like that? Well bugger all. A demon took Arthur, and until his father was found, Alfred would make sure that all of Hell suffered for it.

He didn't know how, but he could figure that out later.

* * *

**FUCKING PIANO.**

**FUCKING NEIGHBOURS WITH YOUR TINY FUCKING KID PLAYING MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB OVER AND OVER AGAIN EVERY FUCKING SUNDAY.**

**REALLY EVERY FUCKING SUNDAY. MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB. AND SHE PLAYS IT WRONG.**

**HOW MENTALLY RETARDED DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO MAKE MISTAKES IN A SONG WITH ONLY THREE NOTES THAT YOU SEEM TO PRACTICE EVERY SUNDAY WITHOUT FAIL.**

**I solved the problem, though. I screamed at the little asshole to shut the fuck up already. Haven't heard a piano note since. :'D**

**I'm really a very nice person, you know. I'm not a bad kid. It's just that some things can test the patience of angels. Even more so if you're an angel like Arthur.**

**Yeah, anyway. How do y'all like Satan? He's kind of a bastard, but then I guess He wouldn't really be the lord of the flies and all that if He were a nice guy.**

_**"Hey, look at that, it's Satan!"**_

_**"Oh, he's a really cool guy. Too bad he's got that whole Hell thing going on for him. He's great company, you know?"**_

_**"Yeah, he's the kind of guy you can really talk to. My secrets feel really safe with him."**_

_**"Plus he makes a mean angel's food cake."**_

**Yeah, no.**

**Anyway, guess who finally appears in the next chapter? That's right, all the Azns!**

**Three guesses as to the identity of Death XD Doesn't appear in this story, however.**


	13. Chapter 10: Thursday morning

**Aw man, y'all guessed Belarus so quickly. I wanted to make Sweden Death, but I just remembered that he's hanging around Heaven OTL Death's addition was a last-minute thing, you see.**

**And Tino is totally Santa in this universe, FYI.**

**Yeah.**

**AZNS. I love you flaming homo son :'D**

**And because of that bastard son of mine, I've been bullied into saying Yong Soo instead of just Im. So y'all know how it is.**

**Wang Yao, strictly speaking, shouldn't be a name. I mean there should be _three_ names in there right? Wang would be his surname and his given name would be Yao Something. Either that or Hidekaz never gave him a surname and he's just Wang Yao.**

**Fuck, that really makes me want to name him Wang Yao Ming. Then people could be all, "Yao Ming? You have the same name as the legendary basketballer?" and he'd be like, "fuck y'all, I'm older. Yao Ming has the same name as ME."**

* * *

Bodies surrounded Yao on every side. To his left, there were corpses. To his right, there were corpses. Everywhere he looked, there were corpses. That would have been bad enough on a normal day, but the worst part about all this was that these particular corpses didn't even have the decency to act _dead_.

They shuffled toward him with determination, albeit slowly, groaning like nothing Yao had ever heard before. He hefted the crowbar in his hands and brought it down on the head of one zombie. It fell, unmoving. But before he even had the time to congratulate himself, another zombie had taken its place. Yao swung at that one too, arms feeling tired. He had been doing this all day and the zombies didn't seem to be lessening in number. If anything, Yao suspected that some of them were getting back up after being knocked down. Cheating bastards.

_"BRAAAAINS," _one of them said, making Yao jump and swat at it as hard as he could. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. They had been saying this all day. It was probably the only thing they knew how to say. At least they were expressing their desires effectively.

Yao wondered where his friends had gone. He didn't think they were dead; he would probably have felt that. Yet, he had not seen them in what felt like hours. For all he knew, they could be trapped somewhere and despairing.

Come to think of it, he was dealing with zombies, not strictly ghosts, right? They were undead. Walking dead. Dead come back to life. Any number of words meaning the same thing. The point is they weren't really _dead_ dead. So it made sense that Yao might not be able to sense them. He was sensitive to ghosts and spirits, after all, but how could he predict what he would feel when faced with a horde of zombies, which were pretty much breaking every rule the underworld had in the first place? Perhaps Kiku and Yong Soo had been zombified and Yao didn't even know. That would really suck.

"Brians!" screeched one zombie, popping up behind Yao. Yao spun around, crowbar raised, but stopped suddenly as his brain caught up with his ears. He blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Brians?" repeated the zombie, suddenly seeming unsure of itself. Yao furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed.

"I'm sorry, my name isn't Brian-"

He was interrupted by a tribal scream. Fearing the worst, Yao turned and saw two figures standing at the top of the nearest building, which wasn't very high. The first figure cackled, and Yao knew immediately who it was.

The man on the building held up what looked like an aerosol, and something else Yao couldn't quite make out. He saw a flicker of fire. Eyes widening, Yao realised what was going to happen and yelped, diving for cover behind a dumpster. Unfortunately for the zombies, they were not so quick to move.

_"EAT RIGHTEOUS FIRE, MOTHERFUCKERS!"_ the man cried, and pressed his finger onto the aerosol. Like something out of an action movie, a jet of flame shot toward the horde of zombies, setting more than half of them alight.

From behind the dumpster, Yao bit back another scream. The fire was coming towards him. Eyes squeezing shut of their own accord, he held up his arms, _in a futile attempt to ward of the flames_-

* * *

-and fell off the bed.

He blinked at the ceiling, which was distinctly lacking in any manner of fire whatsoever.

"What the fuck."

* * *

Had all that been just a dream? It seemed far too vivid to be just a dream. And yet, there were no zombies to be seen.

Yao sighed and sat up, joints creaking and making him wince. He reached up and found his alarm clock. It was eight o'clock. Far too early to be waking up on a holiday. But Yao knew he would not be able to get back to sleep, and besides, his stomach was beginning to make strange noises, so he hoisted himself out of the tangle of sheets and made his way to the kitchen.

Yao swore as he nearly tripped over Kiku's dog, which had been lying almost directly outside Yao's door. It looked up at him innocently, wagging its tail as though it had not just tried to kill him. He shot the Pochi a dirty look.

Rubbing his eyes and still grumbling, he finally reached the kitchen without tripping over the rest of the clutter. He made a mental note to make Yong Soo clean all of it up later.

He looked up and noticed Kiku already sitting at the kitchen counter with a teapot and a plate of toast. The young Japanese man looked up at Yao's arrival and gave him a nod as greeting. He turned back to the teapot in front of him and picked it up to pour himself a cup. Almost immediately, the handle of the teapot broke off and it fell, spilling tea all over the counter and on Kiku. The man sighed.

Without missing a beat, Yao handed him a cloth. Kiku smiled wearily and began cleaning himself up.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Yao asked, noticing a patch of tea that had spilled disturbingly close to Kiku's privates, and wincing in sympathy. Kiku shook his head. "I thought this might happen, so I made the tea cold." He sighed unhappily and righted the broken teapot. Yao patted him on the shoulder.

"Kiku, you know it's a Thursday. Why did you even bother trying to make yourself breakfast?"

"I wanted some, and you and Yong Soo were still asleep," Kiku's face fell further, reminded again of how for some reason, he had horrible luck, but only on Thursdays. Yong Soo said it was because he had pissed off the god of Thursdays somehow. Kiku had not believed him at first, but was beginning to wonder if Yong Soo was actually right. Yao smiled sympathetically.

"You should have just asked. I'm not like that bastard Soo, who ditches you every Thursday and only shows up the next day."

"You should be," replied Kiku sullenly. "My bad luck affects you too, you know that."

Yao shrugged his shoulders. "Why didn't we just get a plastic teapot, anyway?"

"We did. The cup broke instead."

"Oh, right. We should replace all of our cutlery with plastic, shouldn't we," he noted. Kiku shook his head. "We did that too, but all of it melted somehow. It's all in a lump now. It's only good as a paperweight." He started buttering what was left of his toast, even though it was already tea-flavoured.

"Huh." Yao absentmindedly took the knife out of his roommate's hand. "You know you're not allowed to handle sharp objects on Thursdays."

From the hallway, they heard a muffled thump and a stream of curses. Yao snorted. "You should tell your dog to stop trying to trip people up. It's hardly pleasant to wake up in the morning and come out of your room, and the first thing that you see is the floor and that little bugger looking innocent."

"He wouldn't listen even if I punished him. He does the same thing to me," Kiku muttered darkly. Yong Soo walked into the kitchen then, glaring daggers at the small ball of fluff that was following. "I swear to all the gods on Earth, Kiku, one day I'm gonna kill that dog. I'll run over it and pretend the Canadian kid did it. You wait."

Kiku shrugged and grimaced at the taste of his toast. He turned around in his seat and tossed it into the rubbish bin. It missed and fell on the ground with a soft _splat._ Kiku facepalmed.

"Oh, it's Thursday again, isn't it," Yong Soo called over his shoulder even as he dug through the cupboard for some Froot Loops. He poured a small mountain of them into a bowl.

"How do you keep getting into my apartment?" demanded Yao. "You're supposed to be living next door. One of these days I'm going to throw all your stuff out."

Yong Soo ignored him, knowing that Yao's threats were always empty. He'd probably sooner sell off his _own _apartment than really chase Yong Soo out, even though the man was constantly eating their food and sleeping in their spare room, whether Yao knew about it or not. Speaking of selling apartments, Yong Soo should probably break the news to them that he'd sold off the neighbouring unit and had moved in full-time with them. But that could probably wait till later. Instead, he sat down next to them."Kiku, pass the milk. No, on second thought, don't touch it. Yao, you give it to me." The youngest of the three, the Korean man stuffed a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Yao cleared his throat. "I had a really weird dream," said the Chinese man conversationally. "And I mean _really_ weird. It was about zombies. Well, I've actually been having a lot of dreams about zombies lately, but this one was more vivid. One of them kept saying 'brians' instead of 'brains.' You two were in it."

Yong Soo immediately looked interested. "Really? What was I? Was I a badass zombie-slayer? I bet I was. Was I?"

Yao gave Yong Soo a very dirty look. "You were a fucking lunatic, as usual. Nearly killed me. You had a lighter and an aerosol spray. I don't even know why Kiku let you carry that shit around."

Kiku shrugged apologetically. Yong Soo grinned. "A home-made flamethrower! That's definitely awesomeness worthy of me."

Yao blinked suddenly, an epiphany hitting him like how Soo had done the first time he'd been allowed to ride a scooter. He thought about the conversation he'd had with his deceased acquaintance by text the other night. "Maybe itwas another prophecy."

Yong Soo rolled his eyes. "Not this again. Dude, you keep saying your dreams are prophecies, but they never come true. Just give it up."

It was exactly what he had been thinking that night, but Yao looked offended nonetheless. "Well _excuse me_ for being psychic. I can't really help being the Chosen One, you know? You should be grateful that I'm even sharing this information with you. I could be saving your life from a zombie apocalypse, and you don't even care."

"Well, to be fair, you've had dozens of 'predictions', and _none_ of them have ever come true," Kiku interjected. "Remember the one about the McDonald's? If I recall correctly you had a dream about a meat freezer. How is that prophetic? And you dreamt about a demon dog. That's highly improbable at best. And you had a dream in which the Canadian kid finally got a girlfriend. Poor guy was hopeful for weeks. And then there was that recent one about two guys having tea in Europe or wherever. I don't even know what the point behind that was. And then there was the one about really long lines at the post office, which by the way doesn't really concern anyone unless one of us decides to mail a letter. And now it's more zombies. If you ask me, it's not that you're getting visions of the future, but you've been eating really weird food before bed. Which you should probably stop doing, by the way, or you might get indigestion."

"All these dreams are going to come true, you mark my words," replied Yao hotly. "I've been dreaming about angels and demons lately. If that's not an omen I don't know what is. Although, strictly speaking, they didn't quite fit in with what I traditionally thought of as deities."

"What?" asked Yong Soo intelligently, still stuffing his face with colourful hoops. Yao wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Learn some table manners, would you? God."

"Which God?"

Yao ignored him. "Granted the angels in my dream were a little weird, and so were the demons, but I've got a strong feeling. I dreamt that they were going to mess some serious shit up on Earth and we should be prepared. The spirits don't lie."

"Bull, the spirits haven't told you jack, have they?" Yong Soo snorted. Yao bristled.

"Well, how about we hand the job of being a psychic to you, eh? Until you actually know what you're talking about, don't try to act like an expert."

Yong Soo was about to retort, when Kiku placed a hand on his arm to shut him up. "Now, now," he said soothingly, "there's no point in getting into arguments, is there? It's a public holiday, let's enjoy it."

"But-" Yong Soo began, but Kiku glared at him. "Let's not argue," he repeated. His voice was level, but carried subtle undertones of _shut the fuck up or I'll cut you_. Yong Soo shut up.

"Come to think of it," said Yao, glancing at the window, where he could see people already bustling about outside, "we had to go somewhere today, right? Gotta get to the restaurant."

Yong Soo groaned. "What, really? But it's a national holiday! Why do we have to go to work?"

"Because we have to count stocks. We discussed this," said Kiku calmly, ignoring Yong Soo's protests. "Look, it's no big deal. All we have to do is count things. And you'd probably just sit there and do nothing like you always do, anyway. Besides, every other store in the country is closed. You can't go out for a movie or to get food or anything, so you might as well do something useful today. And at least we're getting paid for this."

"I could easily stay home and play Halo," Yong Soo whined, but the others ignored him.

* * *

** No, I don't know what holiday it is, it's just A Holiday, okay? Geez. **

**HAHA. OOC azns are OOC, but that's because I originally wrote them as different characters and had to edit them to fit Hetalia-verse so I could post this on FF. Hence, out-of-character people. But nobody really minds, right? D: Hell, I've bastardised things enough already. What's another few?**

**I don't like that little red squiggly line you're putting under my "bastardised", Google. Fuck you, I'll spell things as British as I want. Fuck you and your anti-limey attitude. Damn Yanks.**

**Okay, in case you're wondering, Gilbert was the Earth's very first zombie. This is why nothing has been noticed yet. God, if I had to explain that in the note here then I really fail, huh? :C Anyway, Azns like I promised. They appear really late, don't they? LOL sorry. Oh, well. Now we just have to wait for the Canadian kid and we'll have the full ensemble! :D **

**He doesn't, by the way, have a name. He's just The Canadian Kid. That's all. I mean he's probably theoretically got a name, but nobody remembers it. His parents used to call him Number Two. As you can imagine that was the premise for a lot of name-calling as a child. Or it would have been, had the bullies ever noticed him. If there even _are_ bullies in Canada.**

**Cuz Canadians are cool like that. **

**Yeah.**


	14. Chapter 11: Still Thursday morning

**MINDFUCKED.**

**Chinese people can really just have two names. But I don't know anyone like that. :C**

**Fuck y'all, I'm sticking with Wang Yao Ming. **

* * *

The Asian trio sat in a row on the sidewalk outside their restaurant. People passed them by and took no notice of them. They, in turn, stared ahead and said nothing. Their faces were blank.

Ten feet away, a young man with curly blonde hair was walking with his hands in his pockets. He was suicidal that morning. That wasn't to say he wasn't suicidal every morning, because he was. But this morning he decided that it was finally time to end his life. He stepped in front of a bus.

The bus stopped at a station right before it could run the young man over. The driver didn't even notice him. The bespectacled youth sighed and continued walking. Thwarted again.

He stopped in front of the three Orientals, wondering for a moment how he had managed to run into them. Then he remembered that these three worked at the same restaurant that he did. Speaking of which, shouldn't they be inside now, already getting started on work?

"What are you still doing out here?" he asked.

"Key got stuck in the lock and broke," replied Yong Soo, not bothering to look up. The Canuck looked at the door of the restaurant. Indeed, there was a bit of metal sticking out of the keyhole. He looked back at his co-workers.

"Did you let Kiku open the door?" he asked.

As one man, the Asians nodded. The Canadian sighed and sat down next to them.

"You should really learn to stop doing that."

Kiku sobbed.

"So where's Elizabeta?" asked Yao conversationally, still not looking away from the door. The Canadian kid opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by himself.

_"I'm right here, thank you for asking_," he said suddenly in a distinctly feminine voice, spoken with a thick Swedish accent. _"I see your poor friend is having some trouble again with his luckiness."_

Kiku nodded gravely. "Yes, it doesn't seem to have cleared up any. I'm afraid I'll be a walking jinx until tomorrow."

_"Don't worry, dear,"_ replied the Canadian kid placatingly, still in the voice of a woman. _"When the Valkyries come and Valhalla opens up for you, all this will be of no consequence."_

"Thank you. That is both disturbingly morbid and incredibly soothing at the same time."

"_I try,"_ replied the Canadian with a girlish giggle. Several passersby turned around to stare at him. He flipped them off.

Yao's phone started vibrating. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. He had a text message. There was no return number. "I have another spirit text."

"Oh?" Yong Soo turned to him. "Who's it from?"

"Not sure. I mean, I know I'm supposed to be psychic and everything, but I'm not omniscient. All-knowing," he clarified, seeing Yong Soo's blank face. "When a spirit sends me a text message, it would be nice to know exactly who I'm talking to. And actually, a return number would be nice too. It's sort of frustrating being able to receive texts but not being able to send them."

The Canadian kid snorted, and when he spoke, it was in his own voice. "I still don't really believe that you receive text messages from the dead."

Yao flipped him off. "I communicate with the dead via text messages, if you have a problem then go jump off a cliff. Besides, I find that pretty rich coming from a guy who accidentally acquired the soul of a dead Viking."

_"Please don't bring me into this,"_ said the Canadian kid politely, before his voice suddenly switched back to normal. "Fuck you, do you even know what it's like having two souls in one body? I've scared the shit out of countless prospective girlfriends. Even my parents think this is some sort of weird phase, like cross-dressing only with voices. They think I'm gay. Do you know how hard it is to find a girlfriend when everyone thinks you're gay? Not that I mind when girls start changing in front of me, but they treat me like some sort of gal pal and ask me for fashion advice. It sucks rubber donkey lungs. If I knew it would come to this, I would never have agreed to become the Chosen One."

"Fuck you, there's nothing Chosen One about it. You bit into a haunted orange and got an extra soul completely by accident. And you can take off that obnoxious ring, you're not fooling anyone. Nobody's going to believe you have a haunted piece of jewellery, because everyone already knows you got Elizabeta from a fruit!"

The Canadian kid looked horrified for a second, before his face suddenly melted into one of suspicion. _"You,"_ he said to himself in the voice of Elizabeta, _"is that true? Have you been lying to everyone about where I have come from?"_

The Canadian gulped. "Of course not! I'm proud of you," he said, voice returning back to normal, but Elizabeta was not impressed. _"I knew something was strange when you bought that ugly ring! I cannot believe you! I should fell your head from my shoulders with my axe! Where is my axe?"_

"You've got it all wrong!" said the Canadian kid desperately. "Come on, Elizabeta, don't be mad, it's got nothing to do with you, really! No, don't give me the silent treatment, can we at least talk about this?"

When she didn't respond, the Canadian kid sagged slightly and gave Yao a very dirty look. "Thanks a lot," he spat, flipping him the bird. He turned to the small crowd of people that had gathered to watch the young man switching between voices with a most convincing Swedish accent. "What are you looking at? The show's over, go home."

Yao grinned apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't know you were keeping it a secret. Figured everyone already knew what happened." At the Canadian kid's sullen face, Yao laughed. "Don't worry about it, you two share the same body, how can she stay mad at you for long? Give her a few days. Go buy yourself something she really likes to eat, like chocolate or something, so she'll forgive you."

The Canadian kid snorted miserably. Yong Soo patted him sympathetically on the head. "And everybody says Canadians don't have souls. Look at you, you've got two! At least that's something to be proud of, right?"

Kiku suddenly looked up. "Oh, speaking of souls, Yao, what did your text message say?"

Yao blinked and looked at his phone, realising that in all the confusion he had forgotten to read the message. He read it, and his expression went from curious to confused. Kiku leaned over. "What?"

Yao handed the phone to Kiku and the Canadian kid. "It's only one word this time. '_Trouble'._"

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" asked Yong Soo, also taking a look at the phone. Yao simply shrugged. "Dunno. Wish the spirits would be more specific. It's like their whole purpose in life is to mess with your head." He took back his phone and looked at the message one more time before flipping it closed and stuffing it back into his pocket.

"Trouble," he said more to himself than to anyone else. "What the hell could that mean?"

* * *

"I will never understand your fascination for this place," Francis deadpanned as raindrops bounced harmlessly off him, not getting him wet at all. Arthur stuck out his tongue childishly, ignoring the looks other people were giving the two men who had been standing in the rain without an umbrella for nearly twenty minutes and somehow did not seem any worse for wear.

"Shut up, the London Eye is gorgeous, far better than that silly Eiffel tower you like so much. Look, it's an actual Ferris wheel and it does something. It moves instead of just standing in the middle of the city for no good reason."

"I'm hurt by that. You can easily take a ride up to the top of the tower, _ange."_

"So? This one will be more fun! It actually moves in a circle, and you can see the whole of London, as well as the business district, and Big Ben, and the parliament buildings, and the Thames, and all the way to Westminster! And I've always wanted to go ever since England went through the whole modernization phase but I never got the chance and this is the first time I've seen it up close since it was actually _built_ and everything is prettier at night," said the angel, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet in excitement as their turn to get on the giant Ferris wheel drew closer. Francis snorted.

"It is unusual to see you this chatty, _non?_ I can practically feel you radiating waves of happy. It really must have been a long time since you had a vacation."

Arthur said nothing, instead humming under his breath and staring up at the London Eye, transfixed and possibly hypnotized. The coloured lights on the wheels reflected in his eyes. Francis smiled.

"Now I know what your face reminds me of. Back when we were still children and had not yet started to Serve. You look like you did whenever I took you to see those human settlements in, well, I cannot remember where it was. I don't know what appealed to you so much about mud huts and people in skins, though."

"It's because they were human," answered the angel simply, voice lacking its usual bite in favour of admiring the Eye. "And we were so young, and the people were fascinating. We got to watch them take the very first steps into civilization and not going around dragging their women by the hair. They were finally growing. Of course I was happy. Now hurry up, it's our turn to get on! Oh, do you have the camera? _Please_ don't tell me you forgot the camera!"

The demon had, in fact, forgotten the camera, but he materialised one up without missing a beat. _"Oui, oui_, I have the camera right here. Don't get so worked up."

Arthur ran off and hopped into an empty capsule, gesturing impatiently for the demon to come join him. Francis chuckled and followed. Although he would never admit it, London was quite lovely at night, probably because it was so dark you could not see all of its flaws. And even though the entire ride would take half an hour, at least the angel was happy.

It was too bad Arthur wasn't the most pleasant bedfellow, though. He'd never actually had a romantic encounter in a Ferris wheel before. What a waste.

* * *

**HAY Y'ALL. So would ya look at that, we've got pretty much the whole ensemble gathered for the big event (that being the climax, which is Coming Soon, by the way)! Things are finally getting interesting. The Asian Trio, the Viking, the Angels, the Demons, the Big Bosses, their Lackeys, the Undead...**

**Am I missing someone? I don't remember. **

**Anyway, shit's gonna get nasty. I have a question for y'all. Based on my observation 90% of FF also has a Livejournal. What about you guys? Do you have LJ, and if you do what's good about it? It looks sort of too complicated for my tiny brain. I have a blogger, although I imagine that's probably obsolete. Uh, and I don't want a Tumblr. It's too mainstream. HAHAHA.**

**Right, do drop my uninformed self a line~**

**Oh, and here's a tip; if you're ever writing Arthur, do take care to check your spelling. It's very unnerving to be reading about the Absolutely Invincible British Gentleman and have him suddenly going "Mom" instead of "Mum". If Google approves of it, Arthur doesn't. And take care of things like:**

**"cookie" (biscuit)  
"trunk"(boot)  
****"hood" (bonnet)  
"sneakers" (trainers)  
"eraser" (rubber HAHA)**

**Damn, I actually update really fucking fast, don't I? HAHA. It's 'cause this has pretty much already been written; I'm just editing. And woohoo, we're reaching 100 reviews! :DDD Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me. **

**Let's have a game. The 100th review gets a present! Uhm, you can request any manner of crackery you like and I'll see what I can do (Be warned, though, that I'm no good at anything other than humour so I'd much rather stick with that). I'll let you know if you're the lucky one, and then you can make a request :D Holidays for me, but I have to build a Transformers outfit. I'm doing Bumblebee. ****:)**


	15. Chapter 12: Thursday afternoon

**100th reviewer prize (HAHA what am I talking about it's not like that many people read this shit anyway)! To my chagrin, the 100th reviewer was an anon! Ahahaha XD I suppose you'll have to try and contact me to tell me what silly fic you want as a present. Or, I suppose if you don't want to bother, I shall write something for the lovely Octavaluna-801, who gave me the 101st review X)**

**Oh! Speaking of which, octavaluna-801 actually happens to be Spanish. I've been meaning to mention this for some time, actually, but putting aside what a douche I feel like for bastardising her culture (and the rest of mythology, but let's not get into that) she informed me that the running of the bulls actually happens in summer, and also mentioned that the Spanish don't really know why the tradition is still being carried out in modern times XD But yeah, that's what I wanted to tell you all!**

**Anyway, moving on, really long chapter :/ Not my best, I think, although this is where the shit hits the fan. Hope ya like!**

* * *

Yao's head snapped upright. God damn, even taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon wasn't safe anymore. He rubbed his temples as Yong Soo walked past, carrying a crate of cabbages and handing it to Kiku, who promptly tripped. Yong Soo ignored him. "Headache?" he asked Yao. The Chinese man shook his head.

"Thought I could take a quick nap, like fifteen minutes. But I just had the zombie dream again, and this time it was even more vivid. It was more of a nightmare, actually."

"What the hell were you doing taking a nap while the rest of us are busy working?" demanded the Canadian kid from behind them, but they ignored him. Kiku stood up and dusted some cabbage off his clothes. "I cannot _wait_ until it is Friday. Yao, don't worry so much about it. We all know those dreams of yours are a load of nonsense. And your phone's ringing, by the way."

Deigning not to acknowledge the allegation that his dreams were in no way prophetic, Yao dug around in his pockets for his cell phone. He flipped it open. For the second time that day, there was no return number. "It's another spirit text. And it's also just got one word. This time it says, '_crowding_.'"

"Crowding?" Yong Soo chewed his lip thoughtfully. "What's that supposed to mean? Are the spirits trying to tell you that the restaurant is going to get really good business soon?"

"I highly doubt it," replied Yao, stuffing the phone back into his pockets. He was about to say something else, when he was interrupted by a loud crash.

"What the hell was that?" The Canadian kid stood up and went to the window. "It sounded like it came from the other side of the street or something. What's going on?"

The Asian trio went to join him at the window, but couldn't see much save for what looked like a few confused looking people and a few who seemed to be running. "What are they doing? Is there a marathon going on today or something?" asked Kiku.

There was a scream. The Canadian kid raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like a marathon to me."

More and more people started running. Yao wanted to go outside to take a look, but was held back by Kiku's hand on his arm. "What the fuck is going on?" Pressing his nose to the glass, he could barely make out a few figures lagging behind the crowd, which was quickly disappearing. There were about ten people shuffling along the street after the panic. Something about them looked... off.

"Do those people look sort of _grey_ to you?" the Canadian kid whispered. To their horror, one of the people in the running crowd tripped and fell, and almost immediately, the ten distorted hangers-on swooped upon her. The boys in the restaurant could not see what was happening, but they heard screams.

"Holy fuck, are they attacking her?" Yong Soo ran to the door, evidently intent on rescuing the poor girl outside, but Yao tackled him to the ground. "Wait, wait! Something's not right."

Kiku's face was still plastered to the door. A hanging wreathe of garlic came undone from the ceiling and bounced of his head, but he took no notice. "Call me crazy, but it looks like..."

"It looks like they're tearing bits of her off," supplied the Canadian kid, sounding both horrified and fascinated. Yong Soo stood up. "The fuck? People are attacking and maiming other people in the streets?"

"Not only that, I think they're... _eating _her."

Yao recoiled as though he had been bitten. "Oh my God..." He sagged to his knees. The others looked at him, worried. The Canadian kid didn't move from his spot at the window. "Yao, what's wrong?"

Yao's hand lifted of their own accord and tangled themselves in his hair. He looked up at his friends, desperation written all over his face. "_Zombies_! They're zombies, aren't they? They're shuffling around and eating people and I bet if you stuck your head out right now you'd hear them groaning about brains!" He looked back out at the street. The woman had stopped screaming and was now lying still. "My predictions are coming true." Even as he spoke, the woman on the ground sat up suddenly, parts of her still missing. She got up awkwardly and shuffled forward, zombie-like. The others, the cannibals, lost interest in her as soon as she stood. "Look, she's just been zombified!"

The Asian trio and the Canadian kid stood there in stunned silence. They didn't want to believe it, but it really did look like there were zombies out there. Was this someone's idea of a joke? As they all watched, another man was taken down and devoured alive. He laid there for a minute, then slowly got up and ambled off after the others. Yong Soo turned to Kiku.

"Dude. Your luck really_ sucks _today."

* * *

Arthur downed another shot of tequila and slammed it onto the table, adding to the small army of empty drinks glasses that were already forming. Around him, the crowd cheered. He held both arms up in victory as his opponent fell sideways off his stool and slid onto the floor. Nobody bothered to pick the poor sod up. Third drinking game won tonight.

The angel knew he could banish the alcohol from his system and impress the crowd further, considering how much he had just drunk, but he decided that the buzz and inability to walk in a straight line was actually quite nice. Standing up and nearly tripping, he managed to take a bow. The crowd applauded some more.

Arthur suddenly lurched forward into the arms of a young woman. She looked surprised, but didn't seem to mind catching him. Annoyed, he turned around only to see Francis winking at him from a corner of the bar. Arthur scowled fiercely, although the effect was somewhat marred by his alcohol-flushed cheeks. "I'll have you know that I tape a _fence_ to that," he muttered darkly in Francis's general direction. Stupid demon and his stupid mumbo jumbo, pushing people around and making them fall into other people-

"Are you all right?" asked the girl, attracting the angel's attention. Arthur mumbled something unintelligent, unused to being in the company of women (for some reason, there didn't seem to be all that many female angels in Heaven). The girl giggled. Arthur couldn't help but smile sheepishly.

Behind him, Francis turned away to continue chatting up a young blonde, nowhere near as intoxicated as the angel but having just as much fun. With any luck, he'd be able to get this lovely young lady upstairs by the end of the night.

It was their second consecutive night of wasting their time in Europe, and even Arthur couldn't deny how much fun he was having. Maybe tomorrow the demon would try and get his hands on some illegal substances. Or in this case, it was perfectly legal.

Amsterdam was awesome.

* * *

Meanwhile, Yao was not having such a great time. He was huddled up behind the restaurant's counter with Kiku, Yong Soo and the Canadian kid, trying not to pay any attention to what was going on outside. The screams had stopped quite a while ago. The silence (and occasional groan) was worse.

A spider dropped from the ceiling onto Yong Soo's head. He swore and knocked it off. "Damn it, Kiku, stop that."

"I didn't do anything!" the Japanese man protested, looking offended. Yong Soo rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. You were totally touching me. I bet your bad luck rubbed off on me or something. Even my lucky charm can't offset it." Yong Soo had taken to wearing a garland of garlic around his neck to ward off evil spirits. Nobody bothered to ask who had taught him that.

"Shut up, Soo, they'll hear you," warned the Canadian kid. The Korean man scowled, but fell silent.

Outside the giant window, a zombie lurched along the street. As one man, the guys in the store shuddered. Yao sighed, not for the first time that hour. "I wish the spirits had told me what to do about this," he said miserably. Yong Soo patted him on the shoulder, being careful to avoid touching Kiku as he did so. "Don't worry about it, bro. We've seen like a kajillion zombie movies before, right? All we have to do is what they do on TV. Aim for the head, run faster than they do, don't get bitten. It's not that difficult. Look, even that guy out there is moving at a snail's pace."

The Canadian kid looked up. _"What to do now?"_ he asked, speaking in the voice of Elizabeta. In lieu of recent events, she had decided that she could be angry at the Canadian kid later. Right now, survival was more important.

"I think we should try and get somewhere I can communicate with the spirits. Where we are now my phone isn't getting very good coverage. And what's more, my charger's at home and the battery's gonna die in about two hours. Even though we've got a considerable amount to keep us alive right here in the restaurant, I don't know that it's a good idea to stay in one spot for too long."

"Perhaps we should try and get back to the apartment?" suggested Kiku. "Your charger is there, right? You can keep your phone on for sure that way. And we can get ourselves some clothes and stuff if we need to stay on the road like you said."

"What about the Canadian kid?" asked Yong Soo. The blonde shrugged. "Can't I just borrow yours?"

Yong Soo grinned. "As long as you take Kiku's and not mine."

"What the hell, dude, I'll get infected with his bad luck too!"

Kiku punched them both. "There, now you've _both_ got my sucky luck. Now shut up for a minute."

Yong Soo gave him the stink eye. "I vote we leave Kiku here as bait and the rest of us make a run for it. Knowing his luck, he'll get eaten by zombies in ten minutes flat."

"I give him five minutes," replied the Canadian kid.

"Wanna make it a bet? Loser has to pay for gas."

"You're on-"

"Shut up, both of you," interjected Yao. "I mean really, New York city is being attacked by zombies and the first thing you do is decide to have- oh my God."

The zombie that had been loitering outside the window of their restaurant had now stopped moving and was looking directly through the glass. From where they were sitting, the four could not really be seen, but Yao was positive that the zombie had heard them bickering. Sure enough, agonizingly slowly, the zombie raised both fists and began to pound on the glass. It growled.

The Canadian kid quailed. "Oh my God!" he said, voice squeaking in terror. "It knows we're here, it totally knows we're here, we're all gonna die!"

Yao slapped him. "Shut up! It doesn't know exactly where we are. Oh crap on a cracker. The glass is starting to break. I think we need to make a run for it."

Kiku stared at the door. "I swear to God that's Eldenstein. What's our manager doing here?"

The others glanced back to see what he was talking about. The zombie was dressed rather expensively, and had a pair of glasses perched on its face. They were cracked, but looked familiar. It seemed as though their manager was definitely outside. The Canadian blanched. "Seriously? The fucker dies and he _still _comes back to work?"

Yong Soo started praying under his breath. Kiku began to shake. "Uhm, uhm, weapons, right? We need weapons?" he asked, tremors obvious in his voice. Yao couldn't blame him. It was a Thursday, after all. Still, he tried to keep a clear head. "Okay, yeah, we'll need something you can like, decapitate someone with. Okay, listen, I'm gonna make a break for the kitchen, there are knives and all sorts of sharp things in there that should be able to cover our asses for the time being."

"Wait, but it'll see you!" whispered Yong Soo, stopping in the middle of his prayers to the god Amun-re. The Canadian kid shook his head. "_No, the Oriental is right, the zombie already knows we are here,"_ he said, once again in the voice of Elizabeta. Yao sighed and tried not to fall over since his body was shaking so much from nervousness.

He stood up slowly. As his body emerged from behind the counter, their late manager started pounding more furiously on the window in an effort to get to him. Cracks were spreading on the glass.

"Good Lord, that thing is ugly. Shit, and the window's gonna break!" He darted across the restaurant and through the kitchen doors. Even as he managed to reach the utensils, he heard the shattering of glass. "Fuck fuckity _fuck_!" He grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and ran back to where the others were. It took him some time, seeing as the kitchen itself was quite large.

They had stopped screaming. That was bad. He burst through the doors, but paused. "What in the everloving?"

The zombie was on the ground, a shard of glass sticking through its chest. Congealed blood seeped from the entry wound onto the carpet. In front of the zombie, Kiku was sprawled on his ass, staring up at it in shock. Yong Soo and the Canadian kid were halfway across the room, also frozen.

Yao was the first to move. He edged his way slowly across the room toward Kiku, and helped him up. "What in the name of all things holy just happened?"

Kiku was still staring at the zombie in disbelief. "I... I just... I have no idea..."

Yong Soo answered for him, although he did not seem to believe what he had just seen either. "Shit, man, it happened so fast. That- Mr. Ed burst through the window, right, so we ran for it, but Kiku tripped, and me and the Canadian kid turned around to get him but it was too late-"

"The zombie grabbed him, and Kiku totally elbowed it in the face," interrupted the Canadian kid in awe. "And I mean, I don't think he hit it that hard, but while the zombie was holding him it sorta tripped, and fell, and impaled itself on a piece of the window."

He continued in the voice ofElizabeta_. "Quite an interesting feat. You may have a bit of warrior blood in you, child!"_

Yao blinked at the shivering mass in his arms. "Serious shit, dude? You killed it?"

Kiku's face contorted slightly. He looked like he was about to cry. "I don't know!" he wailed. "I have no idea what just happened! I thought I was going to die because of my bad luck." Even as he spoke, a small shower of plaster rained from the ceiling onto Yao's head. Yao ignored it.

"Dude, let go of him, his luck's already starting to get to you," said Yong Soo, walking over to pull Yao away. Yao batted him off.

"Wait, wait! Coming into contact with Kiku kind of transmits his bad luck onto you, right? So, is that what just happened to the zombie?"

Kiku blinked. "I gave the zombie my bad luck?"

Yong Soo burst out laughing. "Hell yeah! That totally makes sense! Even the undead aren't immune to the force of Kiku's shitty life, eh?"

Kiku swatted at him. "It's not funny!" he cried. "I could have _died!_ And Yao totally failed at saving me! What the hell did you intend to do with a wok, anyway?"

Yao looked down at the object he forgot he had been carrying. It was indeed a wok. "Hell, I didn't even know I grabbed it. I just took the first thing I could reach."

Another groan tore through the air. "Shit, that thing's not dead. We'd better high-tail it outta here before it decides to get up. And to make matters worse, I think I can hear some of its friends approaching." As they strained their ears, they could definitely make out more voices drawing closer.

Elizabeta stood up proudly, thumping her chest. _"Do not fear!"_ she proclaimed. _"Elizabeta is a proud Viking woman, and Vikings are strong and always ready for battle. I am a warrior and will kill the demon beasts that walk the Earth!"_ She picked up the first blunt object at hand, which turned out to be a very large stick_. "It is like swinging a sword, yes? Except it has no pointy edge."_

Yao, meanwhile, weighed the wok in his hands. At the restaurant, he was a chef, and this happened to be his favourite cooking utensil. Perhaps it would come in handy.

"What about you?" he asked Yong Soo. The Korean saluted and drew close to Kiku, who was still shaking. "No worries, bro! I'll just stick close to this guy and jinx my way out of the crowd. I'll totally live. And even if I don't, at least I'll know that Kiku won't survive either." He thumped his friend on the back, making Kiku whimper.

Yao nodded. The first zombie was already beginning to step through the smashed window. He lifted the wok in his hands and brought it down on the zombie's head, crushing its skull and leaving a dent in the wok.

"Well. I could get used to this."

* * *

Alfred kicked down the door of yet another bathroom. Feliciano jumped slightly at the crash. "A-Alfred, are you sure this is a good idea?" He drew closer, looking over his shoulder nervously. "What if somebody sees us?"

Alfred shook his head, making his sweat-dampened hair bounce slightly. "So what if they do? At least they'll know that I mean business."

"I don't really think that vandalizing Hell is going to bring Olio back-"

"We're not looking for Olio, we're looking for my dad," explained Alfred patiently, for what felt like the fifth time that day. "And I don't expect it to bring him back. I'm just trying to, I dunno, get back at the Devil because it's all His fault."

"How is it His fault?"

"I don't know. Everything is His fault. Isn't that what He's for, to mess stuff up?" Alfred slid to the ground with a desolate sigh. Feliciano squatted down next to him. "I just really want my dad back, and I don't know what to do. And that sucks, because, well, I'm the hero! They call me Alfred, the Golden Boy! What kind of knight in shining armour am I supposed to be if I can't even rescue my stupid dad?"

Feliciano didn't know what to say, so he settled on allowing Alfred to lean on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Something will happen. Something always happens."

"That's easy for you to say. All you've ever lost is a bunny." He sighed and stood up abruptly, making Feliciano lose his balance. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" the small demon stood up as well.

"We're gonna go break some more stuff. It doesn't help in any way, but it sure as buggerall makes me feel better."

* * *

**HERP DERP DURR. Wow, FF knows my A/N habits. It just bolded shit for me without me having to ask XD **

**Yeah, really fucking long chapter (or long for me, anyway). Possibly the longest one to date(putting aside the prologue, which was even longer)! I hope you don't mind all this sudden attention being put on the Azn Trio + 1 Canadian. I sort of fail at timelines but w/e :'D**

**Yeah, anyways. I can't really remember anything important that I wanted to say or anything so I'll STFU for now. **

**But don't forget to review! The little blue words beckon to you. Come on, make a cracker's day!**

**(and yes, I just referred to myself as a cracker. It's my name for those who deal in crack. But not the drug kind. Unless you want to, I guess. I don't judge).**


	16. Chapter 13: Thursday evening

**YOU GAIZ. HAY, YOU GAIZ. ****GUESS WHO JUST GOT A FAN ART.**

**:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD**

**I am so undeserving. But octavaluna-801 drew me a scene from the second chapter :'DDDDDDD **

**I AM SO UNDESERVING OF YOUR AWESOME.**

**CHYEAH MAN. **

**Oh, also, to Here, I have an idea for the request you've given me :D Quite a wonderful one, at that, you genius anon you. I love it (Y)(Y) I'll post it, I think, as a separate (companion) fic once ADA&Z is over. That cool? :D**

**FAN ART TEEHEE .**

**Also, I wanted to clarify one thing. Oftentimes you prolly woulda noticed that the names randomly change here and there. You've already seen Sam and Helga appear, I think. The reason is, if you recall, because this fic is really a tweaked NaNo and the character names all used to be different. So you might see names popping up that I forgot to change because I was a dumbass :'D FYI, in case it happens in the future (which it probably will, and you should most definitely tell me about), here are the names to look out for:**

**Sammael (Arthur), Charon (Francis), Perpetiel/Perry (Alfred) Kobal (Feli), the ginger (Canadian) kid. **

**I don't think I'll make mistakes with the Asians, though. (Y) Ah, and if you see any Brians around, they are intentional ;)**

* * *

Arthur looked up from his chicken Cordon bleu. Francis, sitting opposite him, blinked. "Did you hear that?" Arthur asked, and Francis pursed his lips. The look on his face suggested that he had.

He stood up and went to the window, where a lot of curious customers were also gathering to see what all the ruckus was about. Arthur followed. "It sounds like screaming," he whispered. Francis's eyebrows furrowed further.

"I think you're right, _ange._ What's going on?" He leaned forward to peer through the curtains.

The view was suddenly disrupted by a glop of something red splashing onto the glass, making several people yelp and rear back. Francis tried not to lose his footing as several people surged past him to get away from the window.

"Is that blood?" Arthur asked, voice quiet and horrified. Outside, the screams intensified. Francis didn't answer, instead going to the front of the restaurant to shut and lock the door. Almost immediately, the doorknob started rattling as though someone was trying to get in. The angel and demon watched in morbid fascination as something began to slam against the door repeatedly.

A window shattered, and people in the restaurant began to scream. Francis turned around and ran a hand through his hair as legions of the undead came crawling in with a fervour. He smiled bitterly.

"I do believe that this brings an end to our holiday."

* * *

Yao slammed the door behind him, panting harshly. He looked out through the peephole, pleased to see that no zombies had followed them. Not that he was really surprised; the combined forces of Elizabeta's Viking spirit and Kiku's horrible luck had forced even the (decidedly unintelligent) legions of the undead to take a hint and leave them the fuck alone.

He leaned against the door, even as Elizabeta preened triumphantly and adjusted her hair. Yong Soo finally released his grip on Kiku, having essentially used the poor boy as a human shield to get through the armies of zombies that kept popping up. As soon as the support disappeared, Kiku slid to the ground in a shivering heap, eyes wide and terrified. Yong Soo took no notice. "Looks like he might need some therapy," he mentioned absentmindedly, but said no more on the matter. Behind them, Elizabeta released custody of the Canadian's body. He blinked, realising that he had control of himself again. He dropped the –now bloody- stick. "Holy shit, Elizabeta, that was freaking amazing!"

Elizabeta chuckled and batted her eyelashes playfully. "_It's in the blood,"_ she responded. The Canadian kid grinned.

Yao remembered what it was they had come for in the first place. He released his hold on the bag of provisions they had pilfered from the restaurant –they had seen the owner lying dead in the street on their way back to the apartment, so they figured he wouldn't miss much- and made his way across the hall to get his cell phone charger. Along the way, he tripped over Kiku's dog.

_"GOD DAMMIT!"_

In a fit of rage, he grabbed the tiny animal and tossed it out the window. It yelped as it plummeted towards its death.

Kiku sat up, shocked. "Pochi! You bastard, you killed my dog! You killed Pochi!" He rushed to the window. There was a red... blotch six floors down.

Yao blinked and wondered what he had just done. He grimaced at what was left of the dog and patted Kiku on the shoulder. "Uhm. Sorry about that. Anger got the better of me." Kiku looked like he was about to cry. Yao shuffled off awkwardly.

He emerged from his bedroom a few minutes later with a charger and a small bag of clothes. "Okay, I've got what I need. And just in time, too, it doesn't look like my phone is going to last much longer. Does everyone have everything they might need? Yong Soo, you are _not _bringing all that junk. I don't care if you need it to cook and shit, there's like a small mountain and it's not gonna fit in the car. Put that shit away. Canadian kid, you're using Kiku's clothes? Well, wait till tomorrow before you wear them, that way you won't get any bad luck. Okay? Good."

He led the way back to the door. Yong Soo stopped him. "So, where are we going exactly?"

Yao deflated. "I don't know yet. The spirits haven't told me anything. What does one do in a situation like this?"

"Pochi," whimpered Kiku. He was ignored.

_"What your dreams are saying to you lately?"_ asked Elizabeta. Yao frowned. "Well, let me remember. As far as I recall there were no dreams about places. I mean if I had dreamt about a particular place I would have known to go there, but so far I got nothing. The closest I have to a location was a dream about two guys having tea in France, but there's no way in Hell we'll be reaching France."

"Let's check the news," said Yong Soo suddenly, turning on the television and changing the channel to CNN. The reporter on screen looked grim.

"_Even as we speak, legions of these monsters are roaming the streets. Our correspondent is live in the Streets of Chicago, reporting the latest news. Over to you."_

The screen changed to show a man running across what could have been a street in any major city in America. He was not alone. Swarms of people were running past him, bumping into the camera. The correspondent spoke as clearly as he could with the screaming people all around him. _"We've made an important discovery! These things don't die no matter what you do to them. They just keep getting back up. What's worse is, the people they eat don't die either, they wake up immediately as- oh my God, it's right behind you! Run!"_

The camera fell suddenly. There were more screams, and the body or the correspondent fell to the ground. There was a lot of blood. There was frantic activity around the corpse for a minute. Then, silence. And then, slowly, the ex-correspondent lurched upwards. His feet shuffled off screen.

Yong Soo sat down gravely. "So it's happening all over," he said. "There isn't really a safe zone to run to, is there? And this isn't like _I Am Legend_, it looks like nobody is immune to the zombie virus."

"What could be the reason behind this?" the Canadian kid asked nobody in particular. Yao hummed thoughtfully. "I'm supposed to know more than your average human. Why aren't the spirits telling me what's going on?"

Yong Soo shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you should forget about the spirits for now, dude. They don't look like they're helping at all. Right now we have to worry about survival. Forget all the saving-the-world shit."

"Is there a safe place we can go?" asked the Canadian kid. Yao replied that he didn't know. They didn't say anything for a while.

Yao's phone vibrated suddenly, making everyone jump. He scrambled for it. "Thank God, the spirits better have something important to tell me- oh."

"What?"

"It's not from the spirits. It's from Mr. Eldenstein." He showed the others his phone so they could read the message sent by the owner of their restaurant. It was written all in capitals.

_"U WERE SUPPOSED 2 COUNT STOCKS 2DAY. AND U RUINED THE RESTAURANT. WHO DO U THINK WILL HAVE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS? I WILL KILL U."_

The Canadian kid looked up. "Didn't we kill that bastard on the way here?" he asked. Yao chuckled mirthlessly.

"You know how cheap he is, he wouldn't take a sick day even if it killed him. Or if he were already dead."

Before he could put it away, Yao's phone vibrated again. He flipped it open impatiently. "Oh, finally, a message that's actually _useful._ The spirits are telling me to go look for the men of my dreams."

"Do you really think now's the time to be looking for gay lovers?"

"Shut up, Yong Soo, I mean it literally. I bet I have to look for the people that kept appearing in my dreams lately. But, the problem is, I dreamt that one of them is an angel and the other is a demon. How the hell am I supposed to find an angel and a demon? They probably don't even exist. And- oh, here's another message, the spirits say that we have to get to Times Square. Well that isn't very far, just packed with probably thousands of people who want to eat our brains. This'll be easy."

"At least now we have a destination to get to. You said one of you has a car, right? Come on, let's go. I'll drive. Asian drivers; you people would probably get us killed."

Yao ignored the stereotype. "Where's Yong Soo?"

On cue, the Korean popped back into the hall. He held up a lighter and an aerosol of mosquito repellent. Yao facepalmed. "What the hell do you intend to do with those?"

Yong Soo grinned. "Just fulfilling what your dream said I would do, bro. Those things might not be very keen on dying, but we can sure as hell give them an ass-whooping to remember."

* * *

Arthur struggled to keep his hands steady even as the undead surrounded him on every side. He would have easily smited the lot of them, if not for the fact that he was busy tending to a ridiculous amount of injured humans. He channelled some more energy into the figure lying prone in front of him. Sweat was already beginning to trickle down his brow. Healing all these people was really taking a toll on him. But sure enough, he thought he could see the hole in the human's stomach begin to close up. Sighing, he renewed his efforts.

Behind him, Francis stabbed a walking corpse with a broken- off table leg. He would have released a blast of demonic energy to blow the lot of them to bits, but there were humans around and he couldn't allow them to get in the way (well, he didn't mind, really, but if that happened, Arthur was sure to make a big noise later and never shut up about it). He cursed in ancient Demonic. The noise made the few still-conscious humans feel as though wax was bubbling in their ears.

"Where are these things coming from?" he demanded, forgetting to use his French accent in the face of such unexpected events. He swatted away at another zombie, sending it stumbling backwards into a shard of wood. "And why won't they just take a hint and _die?"_

Arthur was already beginning to feel drowsy. This was not how he envisioned his holiday in Europe would end, with a pleasant day in Portugal being interrupted by a sudden onslaught of terribly ill-mannered walking dead. "Francis, I can't keep this up for long." Even as he spoke, he moved onto another human, struggling to fix a head wound.

The strain of trying to kill things that were already dead was also starting to take its toll on Francis, powerful though he was. "Hang on just a little longer, _ange. _Let me at least set them back long enough so that these humans won't die. Then we can try to get to the bottom of this."

Arthur sighed and nodded. He wouldn't have abandoned these people even if he could have. He would just have to keep healing until help came, or until he passed out and was left to be devoured by humans who should really have been dead.

He grit his teeth and moved on to the next invalid.

* * *

Alfred sighed dejectedly and allowed the glass doors of Hell to slide open for him. Feliciano followed, looking rather distressed. "You're really leaving?" he asked, tugging beseechingly on Alfred's arm. Alfred smiled sadly and made a move to dislodge the demon, whose eyes were beginning to fill with tears. "Sorry, buddy. I'm not doing much here, and well, I might as well go on back to Heaven. I'll probably need to tell God what happened to Dad, although there'll likely be nothing he can do. For all I know, he's dead."

Feliciano whimpered and jogged after him. They were already in Transit. "But, I'll be so lonely! Francis's gone and nobody else will talk to me. People are really mean here. Can't I go with you?"

Alfred patted him fondly on the head. "I don't know about the rules concerning demons entering Heaven. After that stunt the Ferryman pulled, I wouldn't be surprised if God banned it from happening altogether."

Feliciano wibbled at him, eyes wide and sad. Alfred sighed and felt his resolve melt. For all the times he used the puppy-eyes trick on Arthur, Feliciano managed to magnify the force by about one thousand percent. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to hang out just a little longer." His face broke into a grin. "Have you ever had a cheeseburger?"

Feliciano immediately looked curious. "What's that? Can you eat it?"

Alfred chuckled. "Can angels fly? Of course you can eat it! And it's only the most amazing thing humans have ever invented. It's like, a juicy slab of beef in a warm sesame seed bun, with ketchup and onions and pickles and relish and lots and lots of cheese," he sighed dreamily, trying to remember the last time he'd snuck out of Heaven to pilfer a McDonalds. Feliciano wrinkled his nose. "It doesn't sound as good as pasta."

Alfred shook his head condescendingly. "Don't love it till you try it, bro. Look, I'll take you to one right now! Eh, let's go to America, they pretty much invented cheeseburgers," he said, fiddling with the entrance to a Portal. "That's weird. It looks like it's locked."

Frowning, he opened up a little portal of his own, right next to where he knew Chicago's official Portal must be. He stepped through it quickly, Feliciano hopping through after him. "Is it seriously locked or is it just jammed? Better check-"

He stopped suddenly, making Feliciano run into him. "Who are they?" he asked, not needing to point. There was a crowd of people surrounding the two. At least, they were people- shaped, but they had a strange translucent quality to them. They did not look like they belonged on Earth, and they did not look like angels or demons, either.

Feliciano tilted his head. "I've seen those before. They ride Francis's boat," he said, sounding proud of himself for remembering. Alfred frowned. "I've seen them before too. Artie's lugging them all over the place. They're dead souls, aren't they? What are they doing here? The Ferryman's missing in action, and nobody's gonna give them a ride. They might as well go on home."

"I think they are." Feliciano pointed. Sure enough, some of the spirits had begun to fade away and eventually disappear. Alfred wondered where they could be going. "Francis's been gone for ages now. How long have these people been here? And holy cow, there's a freaking army of them. So is this what happens when the Ferryman stops doing his job?"

He stopped suddenly, struck by a thought. When he spoke, his voice was distant and slow. "Wait a minute. Since Dad's not there and all, that means that _nobody's _been taking souls from Earth to the Otherworld, have they?"

Feliciano furrowed his eyebrows. "I guess not. But, but, where are all the souls going?"

"I have no idea," replied Alfred, stepping back into Transit and taking Feliciano along with him. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no errant souls were trying to follow them (although he needn't have worried, they didn't even register the tiny portal), he tried opening several more, all in different locations. He stuck his head through the newest one.

"Shit!" he swore, attracting the attention of a few souls, who turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. He drew his head back and shut the portal before they could bombard him with questions. "Dude, it's like that everywhere! They're gathering like whoa!"

Not waiting for Feliciano's reply, he darted back out into Chicago, surprising a few loiterers. His cheeseburger was forgotten.

"Where do you think you're going?" Alfred demanded, grabbing on to one before it could disappear completely. It gave him the ghost of a grin. "Back, where there's something to do," Alfred heard, before the spirit disappeared completely. Alfred frowned.

"Back where? To Earth? Where do they get off disappearing back to Earth whenever they want? And wait, if they're going back to Earth, where are all the humans keeping the extra souls?"

He heard a shriek from far away, startling him and making him want to dart off to the rescue. It didn't take long before he figured out exactly where the screaming came from. He'd only seen it in his comic books, but he knew what the small army of shuffling figures were. Corpses. Or as he preferred to think of them, zombies. Suddenly, he knew exactly where it was that the surplus souls were disappearing off to.

He really wished his father was around.

* * *

**Oh, wow, I re-read that and realised how kinda shitty these past two/three chapters have been HAHA. Oh, well. At least things are finally getting interesting!**

**My sister just sent me some souvenirs from her holiday in Austria. Guess what they were? A teeny tiny music box that plays Mozart, a (FUCKING ADORABLE) miniature violin, a matchbox with some cool-looking scoresheets on it and these fancy-ass fountain pens. And a tiny alarm clock, for some reason.**

**HAHAHAH AUSTRIA. Hidekaz, you got it right! Except about the alarm clock. What is the point of that I don't even.**

**It's cute though.**


	17. Chapter 14: Friday morning

**School starts tomorrow :C**

* * *

Francis collapsed on the ground, panting. Finally, he had managed the zombies out the door of the establishment they were in, and the few remaining humans had helped him to barricade the entrance. Arthur had finally finished healing what he could. An ambulance would not arrive, this much he knew; it was too dangerous outside. Thus, he had spent almost all of his energy trying to save people. As it was, he was drained.

Francis looked over and grinned weakly at his friend. "Some vacation, _non_?" he asked. Arthur grumbled and shut his eyes. "Shut up," he mumbled, wanting badly to fall asleep. The demon dragged himself to sit next to Arthur. "Oi, don't pass out. We still have to figure out what's going on."

Arthur opened his eyes again with a sigh. Already, he could feel his energy start to build up again, but it was slower than normal. He wouldn't be back to normal for a long time. "There are dead bodies walking around. This has never happened. I wonder what could be causing it?"

Francis frowned. I'm willing to bet that the humans have nothing to do with it, even though they are the ones being affected."

Arthur regarded him thoughtfully. "I do believe a trip to the Otherworld is in order."

Francis smiled wryly. He knew that was coming. "Heaven or Hell?"

Arthur shrugged. "We have to go through Transit first, either way. Maybe we'll find someone who can explain what the blazes is going on." Francis nodded.

"We had better get going, then," he said, standing up and offering an arm to the angel. Arthur took it and allowed the demon to haul him up. "Let's take it easy this time, though," the angel said, wincing as his joints popped. "Neither one of us is in very good shape at the moment." Francis nodded again in agreement.

Groaning slightly at how heavy his arms felt, Francis opened up a portal into the Transit area. He stepped through it first. Arthur was about to follow, when he suddenly remembered that there was a crowd of people watching him. He turned around awkwardly.

"Uhm. Yes. This...I'm not really about to disappear into thin air or anything. You're all dreaming. Yes. Right. Dreaming. Take care of yourselves now," he smiled nervously. "And uhm, don't open the doors, whatever you do. And if you have to fight, try spearing them through the head. That'll keep them down for a bit. Annoying buggers, aren't they? Hahaha. Uhm. Yes, I think that's mostly it. Ah, and don't worry, we'll have things sorted out in a little bit. You just sit tight. Yes. So well, uhm, see you later. Or you know, not." He disappeared.

The humans in the room said nothing, instead looking away. They weren't impressed. They had seen stranger things today.

* * *

Yao leaned back against the sofa, careful not to dislodge Yong Soo, who was sleeping right next to him. The Canadian kid was on the opposite couch, mumbling in his sleep as well, unintentionally kicking Kiku, who was sharing the couch. Kiku slept fitfully.

It was nearly midnight, and Yao couldn't sleep. He wouldn't. They had been ready to leave the apartment and book it to the parking lot to get Yong Soo's car, but the moment they had looked out the window, they had been greeted with the sight of a venerable _army_ of the undead skulking around the apartment building. The others had been fully prepared to fight them off, Yong Soo supplying that once they got the car, they could just run some of those bastards over, but Yao somehow figured it would be a better idea to stay.

"I have a funny feeling in my gut," was all he said.

"Maybe you should go to the toilet?" Yong Soo had replied. Yao had only ignored him and stubbornly refused to move. The others had protested, of course, but Yao had been adamant. And so, they had eventually given in, unwilling to leave their friend alone in a building surrounded by flesh- eaters.

Now, Yao sitting in the oddest position he could so that he wouldn't drop off to sleep. He hadn't been asked to, but he wanted to keep a lookout for any ghouls who decided they wanted a late-night snack and tried to come in. Despite Yong Soo's assurance that the door would hold, Yao had decided to stay up anyway. It wasn't as though he could have fallen asleep even if he wanted to. The groans had eventually faded away into silence, but a glance out the window had assured him that the zombies hadn't gone anywhere. Having a legion of the undead walking around silently was even more unnerving than having them groaning outside your window.

That was another thing. The zombies were walking. Not lumbering, not ambling, not shuffling, not lurching around with their arms outstretched. They were upright and walking like normal people, albeit slowly. And Yao was willing to bet that if he were to show his face down there, they would actually sprint at him. _Sprint._ Full speed. And he wouldn't be able to outrun them.

And that was really fucking creepy.

He turned up the volume of the TV as much as he dared, not wanting to wake up the others, even though being alone (well not really alone, but the only one awake) was also giving him the creeps. He had been watching the news for the past few hours, hoping to get a clue as to what had caused the zombies' sudden change in demeanour. However, nothing useful had been aired apart from reports on exactly what changes had taken place. Apparently, unlike what Hollywood seemed to think, the zombie phenomenon had occurred in places other than the States. Footage was pouring in from all over the world. The zombies in Russia were impervious to the cold. The zombies in Africa were some of the fastest- moving ones so far. The zombies in the Middle East had figured out how to climb. The zombies in Scandinavia were starting to learn (or remember, perhaps) how to operate most simple machinery.

The ones in Latin America were the worst. They were starting to use guns.

And the ones in North America and Canada had started to speak. That had nearly made Yao want to cry. It wasn't fair that creatures of the night should start to act like humans. It wasn't fair that they had once been humans. It wasn't fair that they wouldn't die. And there wasn't even a proper explanation for any of this. Not even the spirits were helping much.

The screen went grainy for a second, then returned to the face of the pretty newscaster of that time slot. "This is an urgent message," she said. "There has been a change in the pattern of zombie behaviour. Although they have not stopped killing anyone they come across, we have received evidence that they are no longer doing it for food."

The screen cut to footage some small, rural-looking town. From the angle of the camera, it looked like someone was taping in secret from their window. On the street below, about twelve zombies had cornered a man holding a cricket bat. He fought back, maiming a few of the walking corpses, but there were too many. They fell upon him, some holding him down and one sitting on his chest, hands wrapped around his neck. It began choking the life out of him. However, once the man was dead, instead of falling upon him and feasting on his still-warm flesh, the zombies merely stood there, waiting. As Yao watched, the fresh corpse was immobile for about a minute, and then slowly began to sit up. It looked around. One of the zombies offered a hand to the newly-created undead, who took it and allowed himself to be helped up. They walked off together. The footage stopped.

"Well that's odd," said a voice next to Yao's ear.

Yao jumped violently, narrowly missing the window. Kiku was standing behind the couch, leaning on his elbows and watching his older roommate impassively.

"The fuck, Kiku, don't sneak up on me like that! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! What are you doing up, anyway? I thought you fell asleep hours ago."

"I did," sniffed Kiku. "But the Canadian kid kicked me of the couch and I woke up." He indicated his watch, lighting it up so Yao could see the time. "Look. 11:59. I guess the god of Thursdays wanted to fuck with me one last time before Friday came."

Yao relaxed and hauled himself back onto the sofa. "You could go back to sleep, you know. Your luck is back to normal till next week."

Kiku shrugged and slid over the back of the sofa and onto the seat (more specifically, onto Yao). He shifted around so he wasn't sitting on his friend. "I was going to, but I saw your expression and I thought you were watching something interesting, so I decided to join you."

Yao nodded and turned the TV up a little more. "They're just showing all sorts of weird behaviour the zombies have picked up," he explained. The newscaster was back, and was discussing the possible meaning behind what had just happened. Yao wasn't really listening. "They didn't even bother eating him. I wonder why?"

"Perhaps they realised they don't actually need it," Kiku's soft voice replied. He still sounded sleepy. "I mean, they're technically human, aren't they? It's not like people are cannibals. Unless maybe you live in Fiji, but that doesn't really count."

"Then why bother killing him at all? It's not like there was any point behind it."

Kiku shrugged. "Maybe they just wanted some friends? Haha. Like, since after being killed by a zombie you become a zombie too."

Kiku was only joking, but Yao sat up. "My God, Kiku, what if you're right? They may be going around killing people to add to their legions of the supernaturally inclined. Maybe they're trying to build some sort of army?"

"Maybe they're trying to convert the rest of the world," said another voice. Yao and Kiku turned. Yong Soo was sitting up and rubbing his eyes. On the next couch, the Canadian kid was waking up as well. The Canadian kid smiled. "You guys don't exactly talk real soft. Elizabeta's still asleep, though." He sat up. "So, zombies are killing people but not eating them?"

Yao nodded. "And for once, I think you may have a point. It does sorta look like they're trying to turn everyone else into zombies as well."

"But you know, something's bothering me a little," the Canadian kid yawned. "You remember when they first started popping up, they went around eating people? They really seemed to be enjoying themselves there. I mean, not like I would know or anything, but the way they were going at those people made it seem like people-meat was the best damn thing in the world. Anyway, so what I'm thinking is, even when they went around eating people, the victims would still have turned into zombies, anyway, right? So if they were enjoying themselves so much before, why suddenly stop even though it would have had the same result anyway?"

Kiku tilted is head sideways. "Well, we figure the zombies are starting to act more like humans, aren't they? And they want more zombies, so it makes more sense to not eat them, otherwise they'd have walking skeletons, not corpses."

The Canadian kid pursed his lips. "Yeah, I get that. But well, what I mean is, look at the way the zombies are killing people," he pointed to the TV screen, where more footage was being displayed, similar to the shot that had been taken earlier. "Watch. Those zombies are strangling that guy to death. The ones over there just hit him on the head. And there, those zombies even went so far as to catch that lady before she hit the ground. Don't they seem like they're being a little too, I dunno, _careful_ about things? Like they're really trying hard not to damage anything. That looks suspicious to me. I think this goes beyond simple world dominion or anything. Those zombies are planning something."

Yao frowned deeply. "When you put it that way," he said softly, leaving the sentence hanging. The air was heavy with implication. Nobody said anything.

Suddenly, the newscaster screamed. All four men directed their full attention back to the TV. As they watched, the camera fell. They couldn't see anything, but people were screaming. It was extremely discomforting. After about a minute, the screaming stopped. All was still.

Then, a gnarled pair of hands appeared, and the camera was righted. The focus was on the face of one of the undead for about ten seconds as he fiddled with the position of the camera. Satisfied, he shuffled off screen.

There was another zombie sitting at the newscaster's desk. It was a man in a crisp suit and tie. His hair was neat and well- combed, which was odd, considering that bits of his face were already beginning to decompose. He looked professional. It was a ridiculous image, and completely wrong. He cleared his throat and began to speak. He slurred a bit, but he was for the most part quite articulate.

* * *

"Hello. Sorry for that little disruption, but I am a spokesperson of the legion of the undead, and I have a very important message to share with you all. I understand that in the past, we seemed to have had a nasty habit of devouring innocent people, and for that I apologize. I don't know what we were thinking. But I assure you, we have grown out of all that barbarianism. You have nothing to fear from us." He paused suddenly, apparently reconsidering this. "I'm sorry, that's not quite accurate. You should definitely still be afraid of us, because we _are_ still going to kill you all. But I give you my word that it will be clean and efficient, with very little pain or damage to your body."

"You see, we the undead have had the very... interesting experience of being dead. We have seen what happens after death. We have been to the afterlife and we have seen Heaven and Hell. We already know what is in store for all of mankind after death."

"And, ladies and gentlemen, the future is not bright. We are not happy with this in the slightest. After we perish from this Earth, our existence as souls is completely dictated by others. What are these others, you ask? The best way to describe them would be angels and demons. Yes, it does seem like mythology, and it does not seem likely. But, it is true. We know. We have seen it with our own eyes. And we will not stand for it."

"We are mankind. We are conquerors, destroyers, builders, rulers, innovators, leaders. We are strong and proud. We are perfectly capable of handling ourselves. Our lives are our own. Angels and demons have no right to rules over us. Freedom is what we desire and freedom is what we will get. The age of being trampled on by the so-called immortal is over. We have lived for thousands of years under our own rule, and things will stay that way."

"We will fight. We will not allow ourselves to be ruled. We are rising up against oppressive powers and taking our future into our own hands! We refuse to be subjected to the will of Heaven or of Hell. That is why we are building our army one by one, turning more people into Enlightened ones. With this, we are turning mankind into an immortal race. Once we have died once, we cannot die again. I am sure you have noticed this in your futile attempts to exterminate us," he allowed himself a small smirk here. "The point behind this is that we will never die. Until our bodies fall apart, we will live on as we always have. And even then, we shall build bodies for ourselves, bodies that will stand the test of time. We will continue to populate the Earth and live as we should, and nobody is going to stop us. We will be immortal and Heaven and Hell will be a thing of the past. It's angels and demons versus mankind. And mankind will win."

At this point, the newscaster was beginning to haul herself up from behind the desk, obviously dead. She rubbed her head. The man acting as a spokesperson for the undead turned to her and smiled. "Oh, hello. I see your death has worn off a bit. Terribly sorry about killing you, by the way, it's inconvenient but I'm afraid it has to be done."

The late newscaster shook her head as she took a seat. "No, no, it's perfectly alright. I understand completely. And it didn't even hurt all that much, to be honest. I actually feel much better now. It's a real load off."

The spokesperson grinned and turned back to the camera. "You see? This is for the betterment of mankind. We are making ourselves more powerful and freeing ourselves of the shackles set upon us by those who claim to be higher beings. Don't take your death lying down! It's time to rise up and fight! Our legions are moving. In every part of the world, there is a portal. Amsterdam, New York, London, Paris, Tokyo, Dubai, Abu Dhabi, New Delhi, Singapore, South Africa, Melbourne, Seychelles, Rome, Cuba, Kuala Lumpur. They cannot be seen by those who are still living. We are gathering there. We will open these gates, using force if we have to. Once we open the gates and set free the souls who have been trapped in Heaven and Hell through the course of history, humans will once again rule the Earth without interference, as we should. We will be as powerful as we were always meant to be. We will not be stopped."

He smiled. "Of course, we don't really expect you to understand. But don't worry. You'll become one of us soon enough, and _then_ you will see."

* * *

**DERP. I played a completely ridiculous version of Capture the Flag with my baby cousins. It was silly because they didn't have a flag. Shit was cute. **

**Anyway! BananaNutCrunch has a tumblr C: Because I'm mainstream and shit. Lolno, I don't know. I'm still new to the site, but I'll be using my tumblr as a place to post short bits and pieces that I don't want to put on FF, and also to talk about ideas and silly things I want to try out. Mostly it'll be Hetalia-centric. **

**If any of you guys have tumblr, come say hi! I want to be able to talk to people C: Because FF is pretty shitty when it comes to stuff like that, I gotta say. **

**I might even post drawings (my "art" leaves a lot to be desired but oh well, sometimes I'm just too fucking lazy to think up coherent sentences).**

**So anyway, the URL is iwilllovinglymolest . tumblr . com (haha yes I am a pervert). Hit me up! Not literally.**

**Reviews are nice. **


	18. Chapter 15: Still Friday morning

**Oh Sealand I need rest and relaxation. A weekend is not enough. Can't I just skip school for a day or seven?**

* * *

Alfred was desperately trying to hang on to the arms of the souls who were disappearing, but to no avail.

"Wait! Wait, you can't go back to Earth, you'll ruin everything," he dry-sobbed, hanging off of one horrified-looking dead lady. "Get the hell off of me!" she demanded, shaking him off and dissolving into nothing. Alfred very nearly wailed.

"Arthur went and died because of that stupid ugly useless evil demon who wasn't even French and now the world's going haywire because there's nobody to transport the souls along and I don't know how to do it and what am I gonna _do?"_

He let out a high-pitch whine that he would later den,y and ducked back into Transit. He collapsed, legs splayed out and halo falling off. "I wish Arthur were here," he mumbled. "He was a crappy dad but he's all I got." Sniffling loudly, he reached up to card his fingers through his hair. "Come on. Throw me a bone here."

Salvation came in the form of a ripping sound.

He looked around, then inspected his jeans. When he found no discernable tears in his clothes, he stood up and craned his neck over the crowds of rapidly disappearing souls so he could see what had made that noise.

It was a portal. It was opening up in the middle of nowhere, looking completely out of place and yet oddly familiar.

To Alfred's utter bewilderment, Arthur stepped out of the portal, followed closely by a demon that Alfred recognized as being his father's old friend-cum-rival. Arthur was, strangely enough, dressed in human clothes, although they were ripped and bloodied. Closer inspection would have showed that the blood did not belong to him, but the only thing that registered in Alfred's mind at the moment was that his father was _alive he's alive he's alive he's alive_-

* * *

Arthur stood still, able to see into Alfred's personal portal to Chicago. He was astonished at the sheer number of souls that had accumulated with nobody around to carry them to where they were supposed to go. He turned around, just about to say something to Francis (to blame him for everything, actually) when was suddenly attacked and knocked onto his back by something fast and ferocious and not at _all _light.

"_What in the flying fu_-" he started, flailing, but was cut off by a loud wail. Arthur looked down, bewildered, at the wriggly thing currently trying to crush his ribs. He recognized a mop of golden hair and an old brown bomber jacket.

"Alfred? What in Nirvana are you doing? Get off of me this instant!"

The angel on top of him shook his head violently and yelled something, but it was muffled because Alfred had his head buried in his father's torso. Arthur placed a hand on Al's head and forced his son's forehead away from his own chest. "Speak up, boy, I can't understand you."

To his surprise and chagrin, Alfred's face was screwed up and red and blotchy. He hadn't looked like that since he was a child. "Alfred, are you _crying?"_

"No," the boy sniffled, hugging his father tighter. "Jerk! You're such a jerk! You disappeared for days and I've been tearing Hell apart trying to look for you! I was frantic! I thought you were dead!" He beat upon Arthur's chest, and it hurt a lot more than it had three hundred years ago.

Arthur blinked as realisation -and guilt- dawned on him. He had neglected to tell anyone about his vacation, including his son, because God knows the boy couldn't keep a secret. But he hadn't expected the guy to become so upset.

"Calm down, Alfred, I'm most certainly alright. I'm not dead- stop that, you silly child, I can't breathe! What's gotten into you? Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going, but it was sort of a last-minute thing. And I'm fine, so please don't cry."

"I'm not crying," Alfred told Arthur's stomach. "I'm so angry at you right now you wouldn't believe. You could have at least warned me or something. I've been worried sick for ages."

Arthur smiled despite himself. And he always thought his son wasn't terribly fond of him, what with how disrespectful and prone to making trouble the boy was. Even now, Alfred looked the same when he cried as he did when he was a child. Face beet read, bottom lip quivering, and chubby cheeks puffed out. It was pitiful, really, and the older angel found himself melting a little.

"There, there. I'm sorry," he cooed, stroking Alfred on the head. "I'll make it up to you, alright?"

"Alright." Alfred sniffled slightly and raised his head. He took a long look at his father, apparently trying to confirm that the man was fine. Arthur tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.

Alfred shifted his gaze to Francis, who was chuckling quietly on the sidelines. Without warning, Alfred picked up a rock and lobbed it at the demon's head.

_"Putin!"_ swore the man in French. "What the fuck was that for?"

"You." Eyes narrowed, Alfred scrambled off of his father and made to tackle Francis, who backed away. "You kidnapped him! You kidnapped my dad, didn't you, you faux French bastard? I'll kill you for it! What did you want with Arthur, huh? Huh?" He aimed another rock at Francis, who whimpered and ducked behind a soul. The soul dissolved, leaving him with no protection.

"What fuckery is this? Arthur, tell your son to stop abusing me this very instant!"

Arthur was amused, but complied, if only to stop Francis from getting a concussion from Alfred's bull-like strength. He finally stood up from his place on the floor. "Please don't kill him, son, he's unfortunately quite important. And you have no reason to be angry with him. I went along with him willingly."

Alfred paused in the act of trying to strangle Francis. "What?" he cried, dropping the demon, who landed rather hard and with an undignified 'Oof!' "You left me alone on purpose?"

Arthur shifted guiltily. "Well, I didn't do it to leave you alone. You weren't really a part of it, to be honest. I just wanted a holiday, but I knew God wouldn't let me go that easily, so I let everyone think I'd been kidnapped. And Francis said kidnapping an angel would get him in his boss's good books, so I thought it would be easy to just slip away and let Francis take the blame, not that he would've gotten in trouble or anything..."

Alfred looked heartbroken. "All of that just to get a vacation?"

"I've been working for close to six thousand years without a day off, Alfred. It's enough to drive a person mad. I absolutely needed it."

Alfred didn't look convinced, but he said nothing, settling for a suspicious glance in Francis's direction, who gave him a middle finger in return. Alfred sighed.

"Okay, I trust you," he said. "But there's one big problem."

"What?"

"This." Alfred held his arms out, indicating the rapidly decreasing (but still quite staggering) number of souls. "You haven't been around to take them places and now they're crowing around here. And what's worse is that a lot of them are going back to Earth because they're tired of waiting."

Arthur's face fell. "Oh dear Lord. That is serious."

Francis frowned. "Perhaps there is a way to stop this. We can still transport all of these souls to their respective places quickly, and then all we have to do is to round up the stray souls elsewhere on Earth. There will be many, but we are fast."

Arthur smacked Francis's arm repeatedly, suddenly looking alarmed. "Oh! Francis, what if these loose souls have something to do with the walking corpses on Earth! I mean, maybe, maybe they're returning to their bodies? But we can't kill them so how are we supposed to get their souls back?"

Francis's shoulders slumped. "That is a good point, _ange_. A very good point. One that I cannot think of a solution to."

Alfred blinked. "Wait, what? Walking corpses? I just saw some of those! You knew about them?"

Arthur scratched at his cheek. "It's a long story and even we don't really know what's going on. For some reason the dead have begun to walk the Earth. But based on what we've seen, they're no longer... human. They're more like mindless eating machines, if you ask me. Or, at least, they were up until a while ago."

Francis nodded. "We were stuck fighting those things for an entire day. And that's only in one area. We don't even know when all of this started."

"So there's honestly a zombie apocalypse going on?" asked Alfred, eyes brightening. Arthur smacked him. "Don't look so exited, you silly twit. What are we going to do about it?"

Francis tugged on the angel's sleeve. "_Ange_, even as we speak, more of them are disappearing back to Earth as they please. May we take care of them first?"

"Oh, right." Arthur snapped his fingers. The (rather worse for wear) human outfit began to change back into the toga he was used to wearing. Sighing, he released his wings and spread them out. They took up quite a lot of space. "It feels awkward, having hidden them for so long. I don't know how you survived all these years, Francis."

The demon shrugged. Ignoring Alfred's makeshift rift, he fumbled around with the lock on the Portal. It took him all of three seconds to open it, to Alfred's chagrin. The demon put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Half the crowd of souls directed their attention to him. He kicked open the door to the left of him, this one leading to the Styx. "Alright, everyone, this way please." He literally pushed a few souls through the portal and near his ferry.

Arthur spread his wings further, attracting even more attention. "Right, you lot, will everyone who feels like they belong with me please come over here so I can take you up?"

Alfred watched his father flap his wings, bringing him a few feet off the ground. "How do you know who goes where?" he asked. Arthur grinned. "We don't. They follow us on instinct."

Francis looked over his shoulder at the two. "Less talking, please. We have so much work to do it's not even funny. And then we have to go rescue the rest of the Earth."

* * *

The Canadian kid peered around a corner, checking to see that the coast was clear. He turned around and flashed a thumbs up to his friends, signalling that they could come and join him.

"Remind me again why I'm in front?" he whispered as the others drew close. Yong Soo grinned at him and clapped him on the back. "It's because you're the one with the crazy Viking chick inside you, bro. Sides, we did let you have the coolest weapon we could find, didn't we?"

The Canadian kid looked down at his hands. "I have a stick."

"Naw, you have a _plank._ 'S better than a stick," Yong Soo reasoned. "It's even got nails in it. What more could you want?"

"A gun would be nice," grumbled the Canadian kid, sprinting across the street into the car park, letting the others follow him. "Even Kiku has a shovel." Behind him, the apartment building looked inviting. He really wished they could go back to it.

Yao looked around. "It can't be helped. We need to get to Times Square. The spirits are never wrong when it comes to things like this." He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience (in truth, he'd never actually had to consult the spirits for anything big, except maybe to ask where he should go for dinner. But he wasn't about to tell anyone that).

"Why Times Square, though?" asked Kiku, feeling slightly happier because he had not tripped on anything in over an hour. Yao shrugged.

"Dunno, man. Maybe it's safer there? Maybe there's like a group of survivors hanging out there. Or maybe there's a bunch useful things we can pilfer. All I know is it's probably better than staying here."

"Feels better too," said Yong Soo conversationally. "I mean, it's better having a place to get to than just sitting around and waiting for those buggers to come get us."

Nobody could argue with that. "Where's that damned car?" Yao hissed under his breath. It was so dark out that they could not see anything, and he didn't want to activate the car's alarm. Sure, it would have made it easier to find the car, but it would have also made it easier for the zombies to find _them._

"Can't we just break into someone else's car?" asked the exasperated Canadian kid, pointing at Yao's weapon of choice. Yao had abandoned the wok in favour of a crowbar he had found lying around. He shrugged. "That would set off an alarm, wouldn't it? Besides, I have no idea how to hotwire a car. Do you?"

"No," the Canadian admitted. "Whatever man, let's just get there as fast as we- _crap!"_

He stopped moving suddenly, causing Kiku to bump into him. Wordlessly, he pointed to two or three figures coming towards them. They were running- well, speed-limping- pretty fast. "I think we've got company."

Yao swore under his breath. "Okay, let's just kill them quietly and get the fuck outta here." The Canadian kid turned around and smiled. "Leave it to Elizabeta," he said, running forward with a wordless battle cry. Yao swore again. "Dumbass, I said be quiet!" he yelled, running after the boy.

Kiku turned to Yong Soo. "Why don't we go find the car, while those two are occupied?"

"What, and leave them behind?" asked Yong Soo, feigning shock. Kiku rolled his eyes. "We'll come back for them in a bit. Let's go," he pulled his roommate after him.

They were stopped suddenly by a snarling noise. Clinging to each other, they turned.

There was a zombie behind them. It looked feral, and _hungry_.

* * *

Yong Soo put his hands up pleadingly. "Okay, can we talk about this?" he offered. The zombie snarled again, taking a step forward. The skin of its jaw was missing, exposing half of its skull. Half its torso also appeared to be missing. Really, it only had a chest, before the flesh had been torn off. There was nothing left of its abdomen save a spine. Its eyes glowed bright red in the dark, like something out of a bad horror flick.

"Yong Soo!" Kiku hissed, leaning over to whisper in his friend's ear. "Soo, I don't think this one is like the others. Look, it still looks like it wants to eat us. Must mean it's one of the old ones or something, right?"

"It won't be that fast, either. What say we beat the crap out of it and make a break for the car?" He lifted his Nerf gun.

The zombie seemed to know what was coming next. "BRIANS!" it screeched, surging forward.

Yong Soo was just about ready to hit it right in the face and knock what was left of its jaw off, when he suddenly paused. "Wait, what did you say?"

The zombie stopped and blinked as well. "Brians?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Yao was having a bit of a tough time. The zombies were pretty fast, and they kept getting back up every time he knocked one down. Next to him, Elizabeta was having a lot of fun. He wished he were that confident.

He swung his crowbar as hard as he could, hitting a zombie in the head and inadvertently tearing part of its face of. It howled; he winced. Another zombie lunged at him. He fought it off, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu. "This is almost exactly what I was doing in my dream," he said to nobody in particular. Elizabeta responded cheerfully_. "Oh? Well your dreams were quite accurate, weren't they?"_

Yao was starting to pant. "Why won't these things just_ die_?" he snarled, hitting another one. It stumbled back, rubbing its head. "That's not a very nice thing to say about someone," replied the zombie offhandedly. Yao stuck up his middle finger. "Fuck you, you're trying to kill me!"

Elizabeta interrupted him. _"Now don't panic, but I am thinking there are more of the dead people coming this way, yes?"_ she pointed. Sure enough, Yao could make up another dozen people coming his way. They must have been attracted because of all the noise. He threw his head back and released a string of expletives. Elizabeta blushed.

"There's no way we'll be able to get rid of all of them, Elizabeta- hey, where the fuck are Yong Soo and Kiku?" he asked suddenly, realising that they were gone. He and Elizabeta were now back to back.

"Maybe they died," said the Canadian kid, not sounding too upset about it, before he reverted back to being Elizabeta. Yao frowned. "Those bastards better not have abandoned us," he said.

"_Which bastaaaards?_"

Before he could react, the zombie he had been about to smack was suddenly run over by a familiar, beat-up minivan. Yong Soo was leaning out of the passenger window, wielding a mighty shovel. Kiku gave Yao bunny fingers from behind the wheel.

Yao's face broke into a wide grin. "You crazy fucks, you got the car!"

Yong Soo laughed. "We're a couple of devilishly classy bastards, don't forget it. Now get in, and take Elizabeta with you; I think she's having a little too much fun killing things."

Yao grabbed hold of the Canadian kid and yanked the door to the back seat open. He hopped in, dragging his friend behind him. "Drive!" he told Kiku, who complied. Yao smoothed some hair off his face and leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "You guys didn't come a second too soon; I'm beat. Trying to kill things that won't die isn't easy."

"I know, we have impeccable timing, eh?"

"Brians?"

"FUCKING SHIT, THERE'S A ZOMBIE IN THE CAR!"

Yao virtually exploded off his seat and into the Canadian kid, kicking both legs out in a panicked attempt to get himself further away from the talking corpse.

"Relax, bro," said Yong Soo cheerfully, twisting around in his seat. "Dude, seriously, stop hurting him." He grabbed on to a shrieking Yao's leg in an effort to stop him from kicking the zombie out the window. "That's just Brian, he's totally cool, I swear."

Yao pointed an accusing finger at the whimpering zombie. "HOW THE FUCK IS THAT THING SUPPOSED TO BE COOL?"

Yong Soo waved him off. "Stop yelling, he's not gonna eat anyone. I figured I'd take him along with us. I'm gonna try and teach him to say 'brains' properly. So far he's not succeeding."

Yao was horrified. "Kiku, what the hell? Why are you allowing this idiot to keep a pet zombie?"

"What zombie?" asked Kiku with terrifying cheerfulness. "I don't see any zombies; no zombies at all." Yao glanced at his fingers, where they were gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

"He's in denial," whispered the Canadian kid. Yao facepalmed.

"Brians," said the zombie conversationally.

* * *

**Like I said, Brians are intentional. Ohohoho. **

**Hey, you know who would make a good Doctor Who? Canada.**

**"I'm Dr. Canada."  
"Dr. Who?"**

**The end.**

**Fun things I've discovered over the week when I should have been sleeping/being productive:**

**-Tecktonik. It's suprisingly entertaining (I mean the music, of course, not the dance. I can't dance to save my life).**  
**- MMDs. Or really just this one in particular with America and Enlgand dancing to what sounds like a tripped-out version of Daftpunk. It's amazing. I think I must hae watched it around 92648402840249 times already.**  
**-Has anyone watched Salad Fingers? It's creepy as fuck. Especially the episode about the nettle. I mean I can't even. I don't think I'm the only one who thinks that Russia's dub shoulda been good ol' Salad, although the North English accent mighta been a problem. **

**On a slightly more serious note (only slightly mind you), I'm not going to be one of those whiny bitches who threatens to leave FF _if they don't get 5 good revoiewrs!_ (what the fuck is a revoierw anyway Tara Gilesbe), but there haven't been all that many lately, not gonna lie. I know you're busy and all that, but reviews are nice after what's been a hectic life lately. So please do click on the little blue words and leave me a comment. :) Have a nice day, y'all!**


	19. Chapter 16: Late Friday morning

**Mascot= SUCCEEEESSSSSS.**

* * *

The minivan swerved onto a corner, narrowly avoiding a traffic light and just managing to hit a zombie in the process. Kiku stopped, reversed, and then ran over it a few times for good measure. He opened the door and made sure the zombie was still stuck under the wheels before telling everyone to get down.

The Canadian kid collapsed onto the sidewalk. "Fucking crazy Asian drivers, I'm never getting in the car with you people again," he muttered, shaking slightly. Yong Soo nudged him with a foot. "At least we managed to run over a whole bunch of zombies!" he said cheerfully. "It was like playing a really fucked- up version of Mario Kart."

"Groauwnjghf," said Brian.

Yao waved them forward, shushing them with a finger. "It took almost an hour but we're finally here. Lock up the minivan; we don't want any unexpected surprises when we get back."

Kiku shrugged and locked the minivan manually. "Wouldn't matter even if a zombie decided to run off with our car. We have almost no gas left."

"Great." Yao rolled his eyes and hefted his crowbar over his shoulder. "Times square looks pretty damn creepy without everyone around. It's so empty."

"On the bright side, we'll see anyone coming from a mile away," piped up Yong Soo happily, trying to scoop the Canadian kid off the ground.

"Of course, that means we'd be perfectly visible as well," replied the Canadian kid, slinging his arm over Yong Soo's shoulder. Kiku pocketed the minivan's keys.

Yao walked on ahead. "Be ready for any visitors," he warned. "Now I have no idea what we're doing here. The spirits told us to come here and I'm here. Now what?" He looked at his cell phone expectantly, but it did not give him any clues. He sighed and pocketed the phone. "I guess we'll just have to camp out somewhere till the spirits contact me again. Until then I say we break into one of the shops around here."

"I vote the McDonalds over there," said Yong Soo, pointing to an outlet about ten feet away. The other looks at him.

"What?" he said defensively. "It's not stealing if the windows are already smashed."

Kiku shrugged. "Okay, to the McDonalds, then."

Getting through the door would have been difficult, seeing as it was still locked, so they had to enter the already- broken window instead. Yao stepped carefully to avoid coming into contact with any broken glass. Yong Soo bounced in and immediately ran off to the kitchens, vaulting over the counter to get to his destination. The sound of rummaging could be heard.

"Don't make too much of a mess," called Yao absentmindedly, immediately regretting it as there was a loud crash and what sounded like a small avalanche of burgers. "Oops," said Yong Soo cheerfully from the depths of the kitchen. Yao sighed.

The Canadian kid rubbed his arms distractedly. "It's so quiet; every noise seems louder than usual." He seated himself daintily at one of the tables, ready to bolt should a walker of the night suddenly decide to present itself. 'Brian', the zombie with a speech impediment, wandered around the restaurant aimlessly. Yao shuddered.

Kiku sat down next to the Canadian kid and pulled an iPod out of one of his many pockets. He gave an earphone to Yao.

"I can get Wi-fi here, so we should be able to watch the news," he said. "And it looks like the zombies still have control of CNN."

The zombie announcer had been replaced by another, older looking zombie who was reading off announcements in a conversational voice. "British minister James Cameron, who has recently been Enlightened, has announced his plans to make public health care in Great Britain and Northern Ireland more undead-friendly, promising to provide limb re-ttachment services on a larger scale, and although he is all for the idea of making embalming fluid available to the public, he maintains that it is a measure that must first be discussed with other members of parliament before any formal decision can be reached. If this legislation comes to pass, members of the undead can breathe a proverbial sigh of relief."

"In other news," said the announcer, turning in his chair to face Camera 2, "Enlightened citizens of North America can now make their way to the Hell portal closest to your area. Some already confirmed destinations are Texas, Maine, Washington DC, California, New York, Alaska, Florida, Hawaii, Chicago and Toronto, Canada. For more information about the Hell portal nearest to you, please visit our website at /portalmap. And now, we move on to our correspondent, Lisa Ling, who is currently situated in Beijing to report on how the Enlightenment is affecting the business sector of China's expanding economy. Over to you, Lisa."

Kiku muted the iPod and turned to Yao. "He said there was one of those portal things in New York. Did he mean New York City?"

Yao shrugged. "You said you had Wi-fi, right? Why don't you try and check out that website he mentioned just now?"

Kiku nodded and typed in the URL, while Yao, having noticed the Canadian kid's curious glance, explained what they had heard. He had to explain it again when Yong Soo emerged from behind the counter, holding a Big Mac that he had pilfered and heated up in the microwave.

"I've got it," said Kiku suddenly, ignoring 'Brian', who decided to come over and stand behind them to look over Kiku's shoulder. Kiku read out what was on the screen.

"The Hell portal in New York is in the city. Exact location, right in front of the big screen in..." he paused.

"Spit it out," said Yao, more harshly than he had intended. Kiku sighed.

"And I thought my luck had changed. The portal is in Times Square."

Silence. Yao worked his jaw, trying to make sense of the situation. "So the spirits told us to come here because there was one of those doors to the other world? Why?"

Yong Soo popped his head out the broken window. "Dude, I'm looking at the big sign, but I don't see anything. There's no big door or cool gate or even like an elevator or anything. There's nothing there."

'Brian' joined him at the window. "Grouahjdkrojfnqowfn," he said seriously, gesturing out the window. Yong Soo's eyebrows went up.

"What, really?"

"Perlosjnekmomnomnom."

"I still don't see anything, though. Am I looking in the wrong place?"

"Nmm. Mnaoienjoalmejrl."

"Oooooh." Yong Soo stood up straight and walked back to the others, who were eying him with varying shades of confusion and chagrin.

"Brian says that the portal is there, we just can't see it. He says you can only see it if you're dead. I guess that makes sense; I mean, otherwise people would be walking around every day and accidentally walking into Hell and wondering where they'd gotten lost to."

Yao kept his face tactfully straight. "Ah. I see. And may I ask,_ how_ did you understand what, uhm, Brian tells you?"

Yong Soo blinked and turned to the zombie, who shrugged. "You mean you guys don't?"

"Anyway," said the Canadian kid quickly, sensing an oncoming headache, "What are we supposed to do with this information?"

Yao jumped suddenly. "Yes! Thank you," he said to the air in general, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "The spirits never let me down." However, as he read the message he had just received, his face took on a look of bewilderment.

"What's up?" asked Kiku.

Yao showed him the phone. "It says we have to enter the portal. How are we supposed to do that when we can't even see the portal?"

The Canadian kid cocked his head. "What do we need to go to Hell for? No, I bet you don't even know either, do you Yao?" he snorted, seeing Yao's sheepish smile.

"Hlwinsmooooong," said 'Brian'. Yong Soo grinned. "Brian volunteers to go check it out for us," he translated.

Yao furrowed his brows. "I dunno. Somehow I get the feeling that won't be enough. I think we have to go in as well, otherwise this won't work. No offense, but it's not like anyone can really understand Brian, expect for Yong Soo."

Kiku groaned. "Do we have to go into details like that? Besides, how could you possibly know that Brian'll even need to talk?"

"Hey, who's the psychic here, you or me?" Yao demanded, earning a sullen expression from Kiku. "Anyway, in case you've forgotten, we're not the only ones who got the memo that the portal is in Times Square. Any minute now, zombies are gonna start showing up. And before long there'll be a small army. Half the population of New York must have been zombified by now; maybe even more. Would you like to be stuck here when they show up? Even if it's Hell, I bet it'll be safer. At least people won't be trying to kill us."

"That's because being in Hell or Heaven would require use actually being dead," said the Canadian kid. "Last time I checked, we're most definitely not dead, which I'm grateful for, even though I try to commit suicide virtually every week, not that you care."

Yao stroked his chin, not bothering to pretend he really_ did_ care about the Canadian kid's numerous suicide attempts. "You're right, it's not like we can just waltz in the way we are."

"One cannot simply gay into Mordor," supplied Yong Soo. He was ignored.

"The spirits aren't telling you to kill us all, are they?" asked Kiku suspiciously, backing away from Yao just a little. Yao smacked him, exasperated. "Shut up, I wouldn't kill you-" he stopped suddenly, struck by an idea. Kiku stood up and moved away.

"What if we did die?" asked Yao dreamily, looking at a point somewhere above the Canadian kid's head. Yong Soo was alarmed. "Dude, snap out of it," he said, smacking Yao around a little.

Yao batted him off. "Fuck you, I didn't really mean I'd kill you. What I meant was, what if there was a way to like, I dunno, make us not alive but not dead?"

"Gamoruaneortnfhhh?"

"What, like the zombies?"

"I don't know," admitted Yao, shrugging. "Maybe we don't have to go that far. Can you think of any other way?"

The Canadian kid tilted his chair back slightly so he could get a better look outside the window. "I dunno how you wanna sneak in through a door we can't even see, bro. I-" he paused, blinking. He turned to them. When he spoke again, he had the voice of Elizabeta.

_"I am sorry for interrupting your sadness and solving of the problems, but I can see this door clearly,"_ she said politely. Yao's jaw dropped.

"You can honestly see a portal there?" he asked, leaning across the table. Elizabeta nodded. _"I died many years ago. Elizabeta is dead soul; it makes sense that I can see elusive door to Valhalla."_

Kiku's face split into a grin. "Well that's cool. At least it means that we won't have to die or anything," he shot Yao a worried glance. Yao flipped him off.

"Do you think you could go in through the portal with Brian then, Elizabeta?" Yao looked hopeful. Elizabeta thumped her chest proudly_. "I can do anything, I am a Viking!"_ she proclaimed. Brian clapped.

"I dunno about leaving them all alone in there, though. How are we supposed to check up on them?" asked Yong Soo, obviously more worried about Brian than about Elizabeta. Yao shrugged.

"All I can think of is a cell phone. Does Hell have good reception?"

Kiku looked aghast. "What are you even saying?"

Yao shrugged. "Hey, it's in the middle of Times Square, isn't it? The signal should be fine. Yong Soo, give them your phone."

Yong Soo handed his phone to Brian. "Take good care of yourself, buddy," he patted his new friend on the shoulder. Brian mumble-groaned something in reply.

A slight thump echoed from across the street. Kiku looked up. "I do believe that company has arrived," he said, face setting into a frown. Yao swore quietly. "How the hell are we supposed to avoid a fucking legion of the undead?" he asked.

Brian said something and Yong Soo nodded enthusiastically. "Brian says zombies can smell you."

Yao sighed. "That's not very reassuring, you douche."

Yong Soo shook his head. "No, I mean, zombies can like, smell warm flesh and stuff. But hey, guess where we are?" he spread his arms wide. "McDonalds, man! The place is full of meat! All we gotta do is hide out in the meat freezer or something and we should be fine."

Kiku frowned. "I don't know about trusting Brian, Yong Soo. Sorry, I mean I know he's your buddy and all, but you know how it is."

Yong Soo put his hands on his hips defensively. "Well he hasn't attacked you yet, has he? Anyway, what else do you suggest? I think it's a pretty good idea and I'm going along with it, whether you like it or not."

Kiku put his hands up placatingly. "Okay,fine, you win. We'll go hide out with the meat."

Yao shuddered as the zombies got closer. "It's going to be like hiding in a blizzard."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow. _"In case you have not noticed, I am going to Hell for you, so please no complaining."_

Yao scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Right. Sorry. Good luck."

Elizabeta smiled and nodded. "_We will keep in touch."_

* * *

**Now really, what fuckery is this? FF has been keeping me from updating for ages. Ish. The Doc Manager thing was being a bitch. Ffsh.**

**Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone warmly for all the reviews! :D You're the best. It's nice to come back to an inbox full of messages even though I'm far from being as awesome as some of the other people here. Sigh :') Y'all really know how to make a fella feel good. **

**Evidently Putin isn't really a swearword (I'm not talking about the Russian guy, for srs XD) Oh well. I didn't know~ Can I claim diplomatic immunity?**

**I actually have a sequel for ADA&Z in mind, although it's only a vague outline (I'm not making any promises, though! It might take up to a year for me to get started on it because this year is the year I sit for O-Levels). Based on what I'm imagining so far though, it doesn't really seem like it's going to be funny at all :I It might even end up all dramatic and shit (I can't do angst/drama to save my life, somebody shoot me now OTL). **

**Someday I will be awesome enough to get on TV Tropes or something!**

**Oh, but I'm really very glad that I decided to post this, because I've made new frieeeeeends :DDD I even have an official Canadian friend now, le gasp! (and a Spanish friend! And probably like a bunch of Americans and stuff. HEY Y'ALL TELL ME WHICH COUNTRY YOU COME FROM! :D ) And AUGH. SO MANY AWESOME PEOPLE CANNOT COMPUTE. Eh, speaking of Canadians (haha see what I did there) I've been told that Canadians walk around in shorts and a T-shirt when it's 15 degrees out.**

**WHAT THE FUCK. **

**Malaysian air-conditioning doesn't even reach 15 degrees! D: Cover up! You'll die!**

**(Oh, but we do get to about 38 or 40 degrees on a really hot day. 28 is "a pleasantly cool afternoon" . HAHA. Oh well.)**


	20. Chapter 17: Friday afternoon

**Dear everyone, **

**If you clean your ears after bathing, it is wet.**

**Quick update is quick because FF was a bitch the last time.**

* * *

Arthur collapsed on his hands and knees, panting harshly. Next to him, Francis was lying on the ground, also breathing hard. They said nothing for a full minute. Alfred rubbed his dad's back, looking concerned. Arthur rolled over, landing awkwardly on his wings.

"That's all of them," he breathed, allowing his eyes to drift shut for a minute. All the renegade souls hanging around the Portals had just been herded to their respective destinations. "I haven't done that much flying since the Plague."

"No, I think it was worse in World War One, actually," supplied Francis, too tired to even conjure up a proper French accent. "The work in those few years was incredible. And would you please tell your son to stop giving me the evil eye? We have already established that I did not kidnap you."

Arthur waved a hand. "Alfred, go find that friend of yours you met in Hell, there's a good boy. I'm sure he's sitting there wondering where you've disappeared to."

"Oh!" Alfred hopped to his feet. "I forgot all about Feli. Poor guy's probably already forgotten what he was waiting for." He stretched his wings and ran off, calling his new friend's name.

As Alfred disappeared, footsteps suddenly began to resound all around the Transit. Arthur sat up and turned his head. "Bugger, not another one. Can't a fellow catch a break?"

Francis sat up and twisted around as well. "There are two, actually. One appears to be a young man and the other-" he stood up suddenly. "There is another walking corpse," he said, voice entirely level. Arthur swore, but plopped back down and refused to move. "You deal with it!" he said, voice muffled as he was speaking into the ground. Francis made an annoyed-sounding noise. "Lazy bastard."

The young blonde man held up a hand in a gesture of peace. In his other hand, he appeared to be holding a cell phone. The zombie waved cheerfully at them.

"_Hello,"_ called the Canadian kid, still using Elizabeta's voice. Francis blinked in surprise and wondered if the young man he was seeing was in reality a young woman. "Hello?" he responded. The boy/ girl felt strange. It felt rather as though s/he shouldn't be there, but then again the Transit did not _accept _souls that were not meant to be there.

Elizabeta jogged the remaining distance towards Francis, 'Brian' following close behind. Arthur stood up grudgingly and straightened out his toga. Elizabeta curtseyed, even though she was wearing a pair of pants.

_"Hello,"_ she said_. "I am Elizabeta and this is Brian. He is a corpse but he is friendly so please to not smite him, noble Valkeries."_

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "It's been a long time since I've heard that word."

Elizabeta nodded. _"Yes. I should tell you now, my name is Elizabeta. I am Viking woman. This body you see is of course not mine. I am possessing the body of this young man, although I did not do it on purpose. He acquired my soul unexpectedly. So please do not be in surprise when I talk in a woman's voice."_

Francis relaxed slightly. "I see," he said, French accent returning full force in the presence of a lady. "And what can we do for you, _cheri?_ Did you want me to take care of him for you?" he gestured toward Brian, who managed to look alarmed despite only having half a face.

Elizabeta shook her head elegantly. _"No, no smiting, I already told you. Instead I have come to talk to you about important things. Ah, but perhaps I cannot explain it very well. You should talk to my friend; he is on this device."_ She handed the cell phone over to Francis, who, with a quizzical look, changed it to speaker phone. Arthur looked over his shoulder.

"Hallo?" Francis tried, waiting for a response. There was silence for a while, and a crackling noise. Suddenly, a voice responded.

"Hello? Hello? Aiyah, they have coverage in Hell?"

Francis blinked. "Uhm, who is this?"

"Yao ah. My name is Yao, Chinese clairvoyant extraordinaire," replied the voice, Chinese accent thick with the man's apparent agitation.

"I say, are you alright?" asked Arthur. There was a hum from the other end. "Yah, yah, sorry. I'm locked in a freezer trying to get away from the zombies, that's all. Soo, personal space! I know it's cold, but go bother Kiku instead."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," replied Arthur, unsure of what exactly the point behind the conversation really was. Yao said something. Arthur leaned closer. "Sorry? Didn't catch that."

"I said, who are you?"

Arthur glanced at Francis. "My name is Arthur. I'm..." he faltered, not knowing what to say. Should he just mention that he was an angel? How could he say that to a human?

Elizabeta saved him the trouble of having to answer. _"Arthur is man with wings, like Valkyrie."_

There was a pause. "Wings? Big birds wings? Is he wearing a dress?"

Arthur sputtered indignantly. "It is not a bloody dress! It's a toga, I'll have you know, and there's nothing wrong with it!"

"It's a little on the short side," supplied Francis. Arthur glared at him.

Yao was quiet a little longer. "Are you an angel?" he asked finally. Arthur was quiet. Not many people had asked him that before, except on their deathbed when he came to them specially (because, as an angel, part of what he had to do was make house calls to those special humans who deserved recognition, like Mother Theresa and Einstein and Chuck Norris).

"Yes, I am an angel."

There was a slight sigh of relief from the other end. "I see," said the self- proclaimed psychic, not showing a whole lot of surprise. "I had a dream about you."

"You did?"

"Ya. I have prophetic dreams. I had a dream about an angel. I didn't know what it meant, but I think you're supposed to help me."

Arthur was sceptical. "Help you with what?"

Yao hummed. "Before that, I must ask you something. In my dream there were two people. One was an angel, and I don't really know who the other one was. He looked like a human, but I don't think he was one. He's not like my friends, at least. I think he's something like you."

Francis cleared his throat. "That would be me."

They could hear the smile in Yao's voice. "So my dreams were not wrong. Perhaps this is strange to you, but I think that you need to help us stop what is happening on Earth. I don't know exactly what my dreams mean but this is the closest I can guess."

Arthur took the phone. "What is happening on Earth?" he demanded. "The last time we were there, there were walking corpses going around devouring people. Corpses that looked a lot like your friend here, actually," he cast a suspicious glance at Brian, who tried and failed to look innocent.

Yao sighed. "Please don't kill the zombie, Yong Soo is quite attached to him. Anyway, you're right. Up till a while ago there were zombies going around on a killing spree."

"What do you mean, up till a while ago?"

"Well." Yao sounded uncomfortable. "They're still killing people, but it's completely different now. Instead of eating their victims, they're getting people to join their legions."

"What are you talking about?" asked Francis.

"Whenever the zombies kill people, the ones who were killed always come back to life and become zombies themselves. At first, all that it meant was that the number of flesh- eaters kept increasing, but now the zombies are beginning to act more human. They're killing humans, and this time when the humans come back to life, they immediately joint the others to go kill _more_ humans. But they don't eat people anymore; they only kill."

"Why?" asked Arthur. "I've never heard of such a thing in my life."

"They're trying to build up their numbers. They want an army. They've taken over the news channels and are broadcasting the message that they are banding together."

"What could they possibly wish to accomplish by doing this?" Francis demanded, beginning to worry. Yao sounded uncomfortable.

"Well, that's kind of fuzzy. What they said was that, well, the point was that they were trying to make the entire human race immortal. Like, once they've died, they can't die again, right? And they know for some reason that anything that dies now automatically comes back to life."

Arthur sat down, looking distant. "Oh Lord," he breathed. "That'll throw the entire universe off- kilter. What are we going to do about this sudden surplus of the dead? What are we going to do? We can't just let the entire human race muck about with the laws of the Universe!"

"That's sort of the thing," replied Yao, obviously fidgeting. "Well, they uhm, basically said 'screw the universe'."

"What?"

"Well, those weren't their words exactly. They talked about Heaven and Hell and how everything was being dictated by people ruling the afterlife, and they don't like it. They say that they should be allowed to rule themselves, and that humans don't have to be subject to, well, people like you. I'm not saying I agree with any of it; I'm just telling you what they said," the man continued quickly.

Francis's face settle into a deep frown. He turned to whisper to the angel. "_Ange_, this is all because we haven't been doing our jobs..."

Arthur gripped his head in horror. "Don't remind me," he moaned.

Yao coughed lightly to get their attention. "I'm sorry? Uhm, are you guys saying you know what's causing all of this?"

Francis's voice was grim. "Well, it's sort of a long story. You know how usually there is an angel to take souls to Heaven, and there is a demon to take souls to Hell? Well, uhm, these two, right, yes, they uhm, haven't actually been doing their jobs lately." He bit his lip.

Yao was silent for a minute. When he spoke, his voice was completely level. "Come again?"

Francis chuckled nervously. "Well, yes, you see, they were very busy, and well, the bottom line is they were unable to perform their duties for a while. And well, with nobody around ferry these souls, there was a sort of build up."

"Like a clogged sink."

"Perhaps," said Francis, wincing slightly at the analogy. "Ah, well, since there was such a crowd, because so many people die every day, well, the bottom line is that there was probably no more space here and so they returned to Earth, even though they should not have done so."

"So, there was no room in Hell?"

"It is not Hell per se," replied Francis. "It is rather complicated. Suffice to say that there is a transit area where a soul must wait before he can be taken to Heaven or Hell. And well, the gates of Heaven and Hell had not been opened since we- since this hypothetical angel and demon were not around."

Yao was silent for a second. "So the reason nothing is dying is because there is nowhere for them to go once they are dead, so they just come back to Earth. And by that logic, every time a person is killed by a zombie, they just come back to life because it's not like as if their soul had anywhere to go in the first place."

"_Oui_, I believe you have got it."

Yao paused again, obviously thinking. There were a couple of voices on the other end, but nobody could make out what was being said. Yao started speaking again. "That's right, Kiku wants me to warn you; these zombies are gathering at eh, the portal to Hell. In the newscast they said something about freeing souls from Hell."

Arthur shot up and snatched the phone. "What?" he demanded, voice rising in both pitch and volume, realising suddenly even if they had closed the New York portal it could still be seen by the dead, although he should have figured it out sooner. "Why would they want to do that?"

"It's the whole, 'let humanity rule itself' thing. They want to free humans from your clutches, or so they say. So uhm, they want to take back all the souls you have with you and bring them back to Earth where they belong."

"They most certainly do not belong there!" Arthur very nearly stomped his foot. Instead, he settled for pacing. Francis gently took the phone back from the distraught angel.

"And you are absolutely sure about this?" he asked. Yao answered in the affirmative. Francis covered the mouthpiece of the phone.

_"Ange_! What are we going to do about this? Apparently this is happening all over the world. If these walking dead manage to open the Gates, they will overpower us. Worse still, they might figure out how to open up the portals in other parts of the world and let the entire dead population of Earth in. There is no way we will be able to keep those captive souls from being taken."

Arthur stopped moving and chewed on his nails nervously. "It's not like we can ask for help. We'll get in so much trouble! And I'm not even sure that anyone would be willing to help us, since it's all our fault anyway."

"Excuse me?" asked Yao. Francis shushed him.

"Perhaps we should try to assess the damage before we make any decisions," he offered. "Yao, where are you now?"

"In the freezer of a McDonalds in Times Square, New York. Are you gonna come over?"

"Perhaps," replied Francis. "Be prepared."

* * *

**Am I the only one sensing some discontinuity here? :I**

**HAHA you gaiz, my mum threatened to spray me with bug spray (because I was rolling along on the floor and she's all "EH YOU GET UP" and I'm all, naw, so she's all "PA, GET THE BROOM"). **

**OTL Loving parents who don't remember my name.**

**Yah you know this might help if you're in school. My Biology teacher has a habit of ignoring you when you call out to her, but my friend discovered that if you start your sentence with "But", then she turns. Like, if you go "TEACHER!" she won't turn around. But if you go, "But Teacher!" THEN she turns.**

**Also I discovered that if you want to get her to let you do something, e.g. get out of class, you have to threaten to hug her first. Like this: "HEY TEACHER CAN I HAVE A HUG? No? Then can I go out?" **

**Usually it works. Try it. **

**Hey, you know how some writers have a universe unique to themselves? Like, several epic fics set in that original AU. I think the angels/demons thing is gonna be mine, oh yeah (Y)**

**Yeah anyway I want to do one of those drabble-collection things. I've got a few written already. If you were me would you start after or before finishing ADA&Z? I've got five chapters here to go. They're all already written. So y/n? Opinions?**

**I'm amassing Canadians. You wait. Sooner or later I'm going to have an army. **


	21. Chapter 18: Still Friday afternoon

The three Asians were huddled up in the freezer, wishing they had more clothes with them. As it were, they had put on every article of clothing that Yao had made them bring just in case, but it was still cold. Outside, they could hear the noise of many people moving quietly. None dared to make much noise lest they be found out.

Yao had just finished explaining the gist of his conversation with the divine duo. "They were the ones I Saw, I bet. That must have been what the spirits meant when they talked about finding the men of my dreams. Those two must be destined to help us somehow."

There was a ripping noise. All three of them began inspecting their clothes to see what had been torn. Yong Soo let out an exclamation, and pointed. A thin line had appeared in the air, looking completely out of place. It got wider and wider, until it eventually opened up enough for Elizabeta and Brian to step out.

_"The Valkyries are here,"_ said Elizabeta. _"And they bring more friends." _

Francis, Arthur, Alfred and Feliciano stepped out of the portal, looking around curiously before immediately shivering at the cold.

"Bloody hell, what are you doing in a place like this?" asked Arthur, colder than the others since he was only wearing a toga. His teeth began to chatter.

"Had to stay with the meat, or the zombies would have found us," replied Yao miserably. The deities looked around and noticed the unidentifiable animal parts placed haphazardly around them. They shuddered.

Yao stood up and offered a hand to Feliciano, who instead of shaking it, simply held Yao's hand absently. "Who did I speak to on the phone?" Yao asked. "Ah, wait, no. Uhm, I recognize two of you from my vision," he said, looking at Arthur and Francis. They nodded and introduced themselves.

"And this is Alfred, and the one still holding your hand is Feliciano," supplied Francis. Yao blinked and retrieved it delicately.

Yong Soo bounced upwards and shook everyone's hand enthusiastically. "So are you going to save us now?" he asked. Francis and Arthur looked at each other guiltily.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something," Arthur quickly changed the subject. "How did you know how to contact us? No human has ever done that before."

Yao felt a touch proud. "I am a clairvoyant. All my life I have been in communication with the spirits. They were the ones who guided me through this. I think that I would be dead, if not for them. Also, I have dreams that speak of the future."

"They've never actually come true before, though," supplied Kiku helpfully. Yao glared at him.

"Well, it's not really my fault that they decided to wait for a while before coming true all at once. The point is that they were pretty accurate. I even predicted that guy," he pointed at Brian, who waved.

Francis nodded, head tilted slightly to the side in thought. "A human clairvoyant. How interesting. I have not seen one of those taking themselves seriously since that old goat Nostradamus. Ah, but he was a big phony," the demon amended.

Arthur jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Elizabeta. "That was clever. How did you manage to implant another soul in him?"

Yao rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't look at me, he managed to do that himself. Ate a haunted fruit or something and got another soul by accident. He's had Elizabeta for years. Tried all manner of exorcisms but she doesn't seem to be going anywhere, not that we mind, but the Canadian kid still hasn't really accepted it. He's used to it now, though. It's kind of depressing, really."

Arthur nodded. "And you used her as a loophole to get into Transit. Very resourceful."

Yao grinned. "So, what now? We've managed to get you here, what are you gonna do about the oncoming apocalypse? Smite them with your halo, bash boom bang sorta thing?"

Francis and Arthur avoided his gaze. "Well, yes, let's see what the extent of the damage is, shall we?" Arthur suggested with false cheer. "You children stay in here, and Francis and I will just pop out for a bit and take a look-see."

They slipped out of the freezer, leaving the others behind, and went to peek out the window. Because they were not made of flesh and blood, the zombies did not notice their scent.

Since the Asian trio had arrived in the wee hours of the morning, the number of zombies standing around Times Square had gone from four, to ten, to twenty, to twenty _thousand._ Even though the pair had already seen the walking dead in Portugal, it was still enough to render them speechless.

Francis was the first to break the silence. _"Ange_," he said, voice low and devoid of its usual confidence. There was nothing more he could say. They were in pretty deep shit.

"Oh Lord, oh dear, oh my holy exploding dinosaurs this is all our fault, isn't it?" Arthur squeaked, on the verge of another nervous breakdown. Francis patted him on the shoulder, but could not think of anything to say that would make the angel feel better.

"Okay, do not panic. Maybe, perhaps, we can bring all these souls back to where they are supposed to go? We are the Carriers, after all, isn't this what we were meant to do? It's only on a larger scale this time."

Arthur shook his head, chewing on his nails nervously. "No, no, no. How? How can we move that many? I mean, sure we manage to do it pretty well on normal days but at least then the workload is tolerable. Twenty thousand is not such a big deal but think about it, Francis, this is only in one place! What about the rest of the world? What about all the humans who were freshly killed? It must be almost half, more than half, maybe two thirds of the population like this! How will we manage four billion souls by ourselves? Oh my God, we need help, we need so much help!"

Francis slapped the panicking angel. "Get a hold of yourself!" he hissed. "We cannot ask for help. What do you think our bosses well say when they see this? As it is, even with all the things they normally have to do, I'm sure they've noticed the sudden absence of souls coming in to Heaven and Hell. We need to fix this before they can put the blame on us. Now is not the time for panicking, we have to come up with some sort of idea."

"But, but, but," replied Arthur, still slightly frantic. "But, but! Wait! Wait wait wait, the humans, didn't they say something about the zombies wanting to open Hell's doors? They wanted to get back all the souls that have been in custody, oh _no_! What are we going to do! Can you imagine how many souls there will be floating around? Billions and billions! We'll never be able to fix that, Francis! All the angels and all the demons in existence wouldn't be able to fix that!"

Francis's mouth set in a grim line. "Well, then, we'll just have to figure out a way to stop the zombies _before _they open the Portals, now shouldn't we?" he said crisply, dragging the distraught angel behind him back to the freezer. "It's a good thing we had the sense to shut off the doors to Transit when we left but it's only a matter of time before they figure out how to get past that. Come, _ange,_ we don't have all day to waste."

Kiku stepped out, looking around, and waved to them once he had spotted them. He held up his iTouch. "I was just listening to the news," he said. "The zombies say that not all of them have started gathering at the portals yet. Apparently nobody's really ready to open up the gates, except for like, two of them. Two of the gates, I mean. But one is being held up, because they apparently found some new human survivors and are getting ready to exterminate them, or 'convert' them as they call it."

"Wait, what?" asked Arthur, still looking over his shoulder distractedly at the horde of zombies outside. "So they won't open the gates?"

"No, they will, but it won't all be at the same time. In some places people are still gathering, and in Toronto, like I said, something came up. So apparently there is only one gate that is going to be opened now, and that is this one."

Yao showed up behind Kiku. "Well, the spirits really were right," he said. "We've managed to land ourselves right bang in the middle of the action." Yong Soo joined them, dragging Brian by the hand, and was followed shortly by the Canadian kid, who seemed slightly out of it because Elizabeta had not fully relinquished her hold on his body. Alfred popped up behind them, also dragging Feliciano, who whimpered at the sight of the zombies outside. Alfred clamped a hand over the small not-really-a–demon's mouth to keep him quiet.

Francis sighed softly through his nose. "Well, that makes things easier for us, at least for now. If we are lucky, no two portals will be opened at the same time, and so we will be able to put a stop to each and every one before they can be opened."

_"How do you intend to do that?"_ asked Elizabeta. Francis shrugged. Arthur chewed his lip. "Well we're not going to solve anything by standing around inside," he offered at last. "Let's go take a look. If we're lucky, the zombies will rip us to shreds before out bosses do."

Francis smiled wryly. "If we're lucky."

* * *

**Crap chapter is crap.**

**AHA somewhere in some chapter I used Word to change Im to Yong Soo because my son't a bully. It changed the "im" in "impossible". It turned into Yong Soopossible.**

**HAHAHA WHAT.**

**Yong Soopossible. Asian cousin of Kim Possible?  
**

**I think that should be a new word. **

**Yong Soo possible (noun) : The strange state of being when something shouldn't be possible, but for some reason has just occurred. **

_**e.g. Dude, how the fuck did my dog get on the roof?**_

**And there would be movies called Mission Yong Soopossible where the main character is a magical sword-wielding ninja space cowboy pirate with a fire-breathing unicorn and a beautiful male sidekick.**

** Mhm.**

**Y'ALL. Making friends on the internet is fun. I'm amassing, other than an army of Canadians, an internet family. I am Papa. I have a son and a flaming homo son, a daughter I disowned because he's not being manly enough and a pet turtle and an iguana. And a brother. I got myself a wife so my kids wouldn't be bastards (haha I don't think that's how it works though~) but I haven't spoken to her in ever (hey look she's the only one whose gender fits her role or vice versa whatever) so yeah, I'm getting a divorce. Without telling her. Because I've never actually spoken to her anyway.**

**BOTTOM LINE WHO WANTS TO BE MY WIFE. IDGAF if you're already some other family member or pet or something because fuck my family's messed up anyways AHHA.**

**I sprained my neck playing rugby. Which is funny because 1)I wasn't actually doing anything but stand around and b) who the fuck uses their neck to pay rugby.**

**Oh, I got tackled once though even though I didn't have the ball. Went rolling onto my back. Like an overturned turtle I swear to god.**

**Socially awkward turtle.**

**Can we change the word member. Can we call them memebers. Like if you're fans of the same meme. Memebers.**

**Did you know that's actually pronounced "meem". **

**I didn't.**

**FFFFFFFUUUUUU-**

**Imma watch Durarara soon. Yeees.**

**Wait there was something not stupid I wanted to say... oh yeah, most people suggested to wait until after ADA&Z before going on with the drabble collection thingy. Also, prompts are welcome. I am forever in need of ideas mmmyes. **

**Fuck I spelled ideas as idead. Like, iPod. 'Cept this is iDead. New app for the zombies maybe? **

**Fuck if zombies took over the world would they watch movies about rampaging humans? **

**Also question, which characters do you like other than the ones already in this fic? **


	22. Chapter 19: Friday Evening

Yao couldn't move.

They had just exited the McDonalds and managed to slip into the crowd unnoticed, but one false move would draw attention to the nine of them and they would be done for. Luckily, though, the zombies seemed preoccupied and did not pay them that much attention. New Yorkers were New Yorkers no matter what their state of being. He sidled subtly over toward the older angel. "So what now?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. The angel shrugged.

"The way I see it, there seems to be a short period of intermission before actual death and becoming undead. That's based on my observations, at least. So what this means is that, even though it's short, there is a window for me to snatch up their souls after they've been killed."

"But the gates to Hell and Heaven have to remain shut! If we try to open them right now, imagine what will happen. We will be overpowered and they will be able to rush back in to release the souls that are already in our custody. It will result in an all-out battle." Francis frowned deeply. "Besides, it takes time to go back and forth into Hell, and I'm sure the same can be said about Heaven. By the time we bring one group up, the zombies would have managed to pry the gates open fully and barge their way in. What's more, these humans and Alfred and Feliciano will be in danger."

"Aw, I can take 'em!" whispered Alfred, none too softly. Arthur bonked him on the head and told him to keep quiet.

"What we need to do now is basically stop them from opening the Gates by themselves, right?" piped up Kiku, warily dragging Brian along behind him. Francis nodded. "_Oui._ That is the biggest danger we face now. Perhaps you have thought of a way to stop it?"

Kiku put a hand on his chin thoughtfully. "No, not really. How long would it take for you to bring all these souls back to where they belong and leave them there?"

Arthur and Francis looked at each other. "I don't know about you, but I fly pretty fast. And Alfred's here to assist me if need be."

Francis nodded. "I don't need to take the ferry, I have wings of my own, actually. And Feli's here too, although the only time he ever moves fast is when he's scared. It will be quick for us, but the problem is that no matter how fast we move, the distance is such that the gates would have been opened before we have the time to put all the souls where they should be. There are just so many of them."

"What if there was a way to stop the Gates from being opened? I mean, if we could like, hold the gates shut from the outside, then would you be able to deliver the souls?" asked the Canadian kid. Arthur nodded. "Yes, but the thing is we'd have to make several trips. Would you be able to hold off a horde of the undead for that long?"

Yao looked up. "What we need is a distraction. If we can direct their attention away from the gates for long enough, then Alfred and... Feliciano can kill these buggers and you and Arthur can take them to Hell. If we make a big enough racket then the zombies will be too busy to even notice that their friends are disappearing one by one."

"What kind of distraction could be that big?" asked Alfred, obviously excited. Explosions and big bangs were kind of his thing.

Yong Soo grinned suddenly and started to rifle through his bag. He extracted a lighter. "How about this?" he asked, looking triumphant. The Canadian kid stared at him. "I don't think that's going to make much of an impact," he said.

Yong Soo shook his head. "No, I don't mean this alone. I was going to couple it with this," he pulled out the aerosol he had taken from their apartment in the first place. Yao's eyes widened.

"For once I'm not sure whether to yell at you or to congratulate you, Yong Soo. You're crazy as fuck, you know that?"

"Totally."

"The crowd is so big that that would only work on a small section. There's no way we can set them all on fire," said Arthur, frowning. The Canadian kid shrugged. "The portal is over there, right? Why don't we just stand in front of the portal, that way we can stop anyone from coming close. Screw the rest of them."

Francis nodded. "It's dangerous, but it is the only thing I can think of that might work. If the four of you are going to guard the Gates, then Feli and Alfred will have to go around killing as many zombies as possible so we can take their souls. Feel free to use magical force if you want. Just make sure not to accidentally blow up the Gates. Arthur and I shall fly back and forth."

"Who said you were in charge, French bastard?" replied Arthur, more through force of habit than any real intent to disagree. "Get your wings out, then."

Francis winked. "Ah, but you make that sound so naughty." The clothes on his back began to become distorted and stretched, as though there were something fighting to get lose. With the sound of ripping fabric, the demon unfolded his wings. They were huge, and identical to Arthur's (except better groomed). Yong Soo whistled. Francis winced.

"That feels quite sore after three centuries."

The noise and the sudden reduction of space was beginning to attract attention. The zombies near the back of the crowd began to turn around. It took them a minute to realise what Francis was. Before they could react, he had flashed them a big smile and grabbed on to Yao and Yong Soo. "Go!" he cried. Immediately, Arthur grabbed the other two humans and the two took off toward the gate. Enraged cries were heard as the zombies tried, and failed to reach them. Meanwhile, Alfred had already leapt into the crowd, using his incredible angelic strength to literally rip heads from bodies. Feliciano whimpered and hid behind a car.

Francis dropped the two humans in front of the gate to the Transit and double-backed towards Alfred. Arthur released Kiku and the Canadian kid there just a moment later, the Canadian squeaking in fright and relinquishing his body over to the control of Elizabeta.

Francis and Arthur dived into the crowd near where Alfred was causing an uproar, and then resurfaced almost immediately with their arms full of what looked like nothing. They shot past the humans and through the Gates (or what they assumed to be the Gates, it's not like anyone could see it besides Elizabeta anyway). Kiku bit back a surprised gasp. "When they said they were fast, they weren't kidding!"

Yao tapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, it's impressive, but we have bigger problems to worry about. Chaos is breaking out and I think the crowd has noticed us." In fact, a the zombies closest to them had turned and begun to realise that these boys were most definitely human. Elizabeta raised her stick threateningly. _"Come if you dare!"_ she called.

The zombies decided to accept this at face value, charging towards them at full speed. Before Elizabeta could do anything, however, a jet of flames managed to set them all on fire. They howled and rolled away, attempting to stop themselves from burning. The smell was sickening. Yong Soo grinned.

"For once, Yao, your dreams were pretty fucking awesome."

Alfred flew overhead, whistling to attract their attention. He was obviously enjoying the carnage. "Oi, Viking chick! Catch!" he dropped an assortment of junk which landed with a metallic clang. "I found these in one of those department-store things over there. I dunno if it'll help any, but have fun!" he grinned, and dived back into the crowd with a cheerful wave. Elizabeta dropped her plank and dug through the pile, picking up a frying pan and swinging it experimentally. She smiled.

Francis and Arthur emerged through the gates and dove back into the throng. A minute later, they disappeared back into Transit. Elizabeta spared a moment to look up. "_It does not look like it, but they are each carrying very many people. I wonder if souls weigh anything at all?"_

* * *

Yao was distracted by Yong Soo's mini- flamethrower, but quickly regained his senses as he heard a wordless roar behind him. He turned around while simultaneously swinging his crowbar. A zombie's head rolled off. Suddenly, he was very, very glad that he had brought his weapon with him.

Meanwhile, Kiku was forced to duck as a jet of flame shot over his head. He turned and screamed over his shoulder. "Yong Soo, you stupid bugger, watch where you're aiming that thing!" He scrambled off his feet in time to hit a zombie in the face with his shovel, wincing at the resounding metallic clang. "Sorry," he bowed, a habit he had taken with him from Japan. "Ah, another one." He sighed, and hit that one too.

* * *

Al, on the other hand, was positively ecstatic. Rather than venting his frustration by vandalising the property of Hell, he was able to go into battle and Smite things as he pleased! And sure, it felt sort of wrong to be going on a rampage, but hey, these zombie things were technically Abominations Unto Mankind, weren't they? The last time he had checked, smiting had been generally accepted when it came to AUMs. He was sure Michael had not gotten into any trouble when he Smote verily during that last battle against Hell a few hundred years back. Even if he _had_ been yelled at by Raphael because those demons were apparently not really doing anything, and the Smiting had been for no real reason. But still.

He punched a zombie in the face, vaguely thinking that he should get himself a weapon some time. He could get used to this, after all. One of them attempted to grab him from behind. He elbowed it and lifted it bodily, throwing it into another group of them. Perhaps Michael would let him come along on one of his Smiting missions, and maybe even give him a battleaxe of his own. Then he'd get to beat more stuff up. Forget about what Arthur said about muscle- brained idiots good for nothing but breaking things, he could definitely see himself getting good at this.

* * *

Feliciano jumped and shuddered as another body fell just in front of him. He was still hiding under a car –a big Land Rover with plenty of space underneath, he was grateful for that- and the violence did not seem to be stopping any time soon. He was fine with that, of course- as long as Alfred kept them all too busy to focus on himself. As it were, Feli was shaking, absolutely terrified that one of the zombies would decide to climb under the car and join him.

The body that had fallen turned its head to look at him, and Feliciano's mouth opened in a silent scream. Horrified, he scrambled backwards, trying to get as far away from the moving corpse as he possible could. He whimpered and clung to the muffler of the car as a zombie's foot brushed up against him. Not knowing what else to do, he curled up on himself and tried to shut everything out.

"I want Olio," he sobbed.

* * *

Gilbert was torn. On the one hand, there were his kinsmen, the zombies that he shared a bond of death with and, whom he felt he owed it to to be good and kill things like he was meant to.

On the other hand, there were these nice humans who weren't scared of him and accepted him and treated him like a real person. They had even tried to help him get over his dyslexia/speech impediment thing, although that hadn't been very successful. But still, it was the thought that counted.

He stood around doing nothing much, knowing that the other zombies would not attack him for he was one of their own. Yet, he could clearly see the four humans struggling to keep themselves from being killed just thirty feet away. What to do, what to do?

Gilbert sighed, although it came out as more of a strangled wheeze. These zombies were like family, alright. But truth be told, what real bond did he have with them? It wasn't as though they actually _cared_ about him, not one of them had even taken notice of his dyslexia, even after it had morphed into a strange speech impediment. All they wanted was for him to join the legion of the undead and help take over the world- or, as they put it, wrest control back from the ethereal.

And these humans, well, they weren't really very knowledgeable and they were pretty damn weak, and one of them had tried to decapitate him with a crowbar, but they were essentially quite nice. 'Brian' wasn't even close to his name, but he didn't mind it. He wouldn't mind hanging around the humans a little while longer After all, he had once been human too, hadn't he? What was so wrong in supporting what was (very loosely) his own kind?

Making up his mind, he stuck his arms out and grabbed a zombie by the collar, head- butting it into submission. His zombie strength made it easier. And there, at least if he was killed he didn't have to worry too much, because he'd come back to life anyway unscathed, since he was already a zombie. Or maybe he wouldn't, seeing as the angel-demon pair were already collecting souls as quickly as they could. It didn't matter. He was already dead, it wouldn't hurt for it to happen a second time.

Or, he thought, as a bewildered zombie punched him in the face, it _would_ hurt. Quite a lot. But well. At least it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

He wondered what it would be like to work in Hell. The decor seemed nice, from what he'd heard. Perhaps he could build himself a steady income, rise up the ranks, and eventually become like a CEO or something, although that didn't seem very likely.

Would Hell hire someone with dyslexia? Maybe they would, and they'd use him to punish someone else. In all his years of working, Gilbert knew that there was nothing more aggravating than misspelled paperwork. Perhaps his dyslexia would come in useful after all.

* * *

Yong Soo shook his aerosol, cursing to the high heavens. It was empty. With an annoyed huff, he threw it, hitting a zombie in the back of the head. He darted back to Elizabeta and nicked a golf club from her pile of assorted junk. "Always hated golf," he grumbled, trying to hit something and very nearly losing his balance. He looked over his shoulder, lsearching for his friends. "How's it going?" he asked.

Kiku was panting nearby. "Things are not going well," he said bitterly, slamming his shovel into a zombie's head with a bit more force than necessary, nearly taking its head off. "I'm a shut-in, I spend my life sitting around at home and playing World of Warcraft; the closet I get to a day out is going to work, and even then I'm only the cashier. I'm not meant for this sort of physical activity. I almost wish I was unlucky again."

Yao chuckled mirthlessly. His crowbar was beginning to get bent out of shape. "I know what you mean. If only I had more practice with this; I feel as though I'm about to drop dead at any moment. Unfortunately, dying in this particular situation would be regrettable. I should have committed pre-emptive suicide or something." He wondered briefly if he had been hanging out with the terminally depressed Canadian for too long. Maybe he was all emo because of emotional osmosis or something.

Elizabeta let out another war cry and broke open the head of an unfortunate zombie. "_Try resurrecting from_ that," she said triumphantly, perspiration dripping slowly down her brow. "_Even I am_ _ beginning to tire," _she said, batting away another zombie. "_They just keep coming. I only wish I had the strength and bravery of Thor right now!"_ She paused in her speech, whacking another victim. "_Actually, the hammer of Thor would be good too,"_ she added as an afterthought.

Yong Soo looked up. "The demon and the guy in the dress are really going at it," he commented as the shadow of a pair of wings passed the once again. "I wish I could fly like that. Looks like the coolest thing ever. Where's Brian?"

There was a garbled response from a few meters away. Yong Soo turned and waved cheerfully. "There he is! And he's on our side too, what a pal," he said. Brian warbled.

Kiku panted and backed away slightly, trying to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but there were so many zombies that he was constantly occupied. He hefted his shovel again. "Why must you be so heavy?" he wheezed at it. Unsurprisingly, it didn't respond.

He was interrupted by an annoying yapping sound. He looked down. There was a little ball of yellow fur (matted with quite horrible shades of red) somewhere around his feet, bouncing around excitedly. Kiku nearly dropped the shovel in shock. "_Pochi_?"

The little dog yapped and snarled, backing away with its hackles raised. On any other dog, it would have been scary, but on tiny little Pochi the action looked ridiculous. Kiku let go of the shovel and knelt, arms spread, completely ignoring the fighting going on around him. "Pochi!" he cried, tearing up. "Pochi, it's me! It's Kiku, don't you remember? I feed you!"

The dog showed no sign of recognizing him. Instead, it growled some more. Kiku didn't give up. "I'm so glad you're back, I don't care what anyone else says! I miss you tripping me up in the mornings! Come here, Pochi. Come to Kiku!"

The dog went to him, alright. It jumped, snarling, intent on chewing his face off. Before that could happen, however, it came down with a sudden case of crowbar. Kiku very nearly shrieked.

"YAO! You fucker, you killed my dog _again!"_

Yao kicked the whining dog aside and brandished the crowbar at Kiku. "It was a zombie, you asshole, it was going to claw your eyes out! And I'm sorry about doing it the first time, but that time really couldn't be helped."

Kiku whimpered and let his arms fall. He had just lost his dog twice in the same week. He threw his head back and cried out. "God dammit, I thought I was only unlucky on _Thursdays!"_

* * *

Above them, Francis and Arthur were beginning to falter. "Not as young as we used to be, eh?" Arthur offered his friend a weak smile. Francis didn't respond. He was too tired to do so. He hadn't used his wings in over three hundred years, roughly the time since Alfred was born. He was starting to get pretty annoyed and felt like killing things himself. Or he would have, had he not been so tired.

Arthur sighed. Actually, he was even more tired than Francis was. Neither one of them had recovered from taking care of all the souls in the Transit before meeting Elizabeta, and Arthur had the added strain of having some of his angelic powers drained back in Portugal, when the outbreak of zombies had first started and he had had to heal quite a number of humans. He was ready to give up, quite frankly. But he knew he couldn't stop. He wondered how long it would take before he collapsed onto the ground to be devoured, or at least have something very unpleasant happen to him at the hands of the undead.

He looked back over his shoulder to check on the humans. The Viking woman was still on her feet, but the Korean was having trouble and the weapon belonging to the psychic one was beginning to lose its shape and therefore was becoming useless. The young man with the iPod looked about ready to keel over.

Even Alfred was beginning to tire; Arthur could see it. He was still smiling and he was still smashing headlong into things like a raging bull (a lot like the ones in Spain, actually), but his movements were getting slower and he was allowing himself to get hurt. Zombies would not be able to kill his son, but there were so many of them that they would definitely leave a mark.

Feliciano was being completely useless. He was curled up in a little lump under a car and chanting a mantra to himself about fluffy bunnies and trying to forget where he was.

The angel turned to Francis. "Frog..." he said, letting his sentence hang over their heads like a chandelier, except those were usually quite pretty and nice to look at and Francis liked them, but there was nothing pretty or attractive or even remotely pleasant about what Arthur was implying with the look in his eyes. Francis sighed.

"I know, _ange_," he said softly, already gathering another hundred souls and lifting off, Arthur close behind. Both of them understood what was being left unsaid. _We can barely handle all the renegade souls in New York, what are we going to do about the rest of the world?_

The humans were starting to be forced back. If the zombies managed to advance any further, they would manage to infiltrate the Transit, and then all hope would be lost. Game over. Finite. Any number of fancy words in foreign languages that meant exactly the same thing.

It was a small comfort, but there were a lot more dead bodies on the ground- dead bodies that were actually_ dead_. Their souls were safely in Heaven and Hell –although the way he was feeling, Arthur was inclined to just leave the lot of them in Hell and be done with it. They had managed to reduce the crowd from about twenty thousand to about half of that. They could handle things. If they didn't pass out first, of course.

"Just a little further," Francis called out to his partner, referring to their distance to the Gates. "The humans are doing well, they are holding off the walking corpses. The Gates are only open a little bit, just enough for us to get through. If things keep up, the zombies will never manage to force their way through!"

He spoke too soon.

* * *

Yao's crowbar broke; Kiku collapsed to his knees; the zombies finally understood the benefit of teamwork and about twelve of them decided to dogpile Elizabeta at once, also managing to take down Yong Soo. Three different things happened at the same time, but they all meant the same thing.

The zombies had won. They had access to the Gates. All hope was lost.

* * *

**There are a lot of things seriously wrong with this chapter, I think, but I can't quite put my finger on them :/**

**Climax thing, I guess. Only a few chappies left :D**

**Why does my nose keep running OTL**

**And I have a wife. Moth Mask ohohohohoho you are mine now.**

**Uhm, also. Michael = battleaxe. Any guesses as to who this angel is? AHHAHA. **


	23. Chapter 19 and a half: Oh boy

**Edited.**

* * *

"No!" Arthur cried, dropping all the souls in his arms and flying as fast as he possible could to the Gates, intent on shutting them from the outside; barring them with his body; trying to heal the humans; _anything_ to stop them from being opened. But he was too late.

The zombies were fast, and they were a lot closer to the Gates. A small group of them was all it took to muscle their way into the Transit. To a passerby, it would have looked like they had disappeared into thin air, but the reality was that they had managed to get into the Otherworld. There was the sound of a brief scuffle, and then the Gates exploded open all the way.

There was silence. Arthur uncovered his eyes long enough to take a proper look. Even Francis had stopped moving, eyes wide and jaw slack with shock.

Instead of rushing forward like expected, the zombies had frozen in place, all watching the entrance to Heaven and Hell. When he actually looked, Arthur could see why they were stunned.

Instead of the little group of zombies that had managed to open the Gates, standing there triumphantly and calling their brethren like Arthur had expected, there was one lone figure standing at the doorway. He was tall, very tall, and his hair was so blonde it was almost white. His scarf played in the (oddly appropriate) wind, although his heavy coat remained almost unnaturally still. Arthur let out a shaky breath.

It was the Devil. He wasn't happy.

* * *

**There.**


	24. Chapter 20: Still Friday Evening

Francis swallowed nervously. Grey eyes flitted up to meet his. The Devil was still smiling, as was His habit, but the smile did not reach His eyes. His eyes promised danger. It was terrifying.

He did not raise His voice, but somehow everyone in Times Square heard Him clearly, even over the sound of His personal musicians playing Holst's _Mars. _

"What's going on?"

Francis wondered if he was being addressed, and wondered briefly what to say that could save his ass from eternal punishment. The Devil had a glare that could chill you to the bone, and he did not know if he would be able to make up a decent lie in the face of Lucifer the Fallen.

However, he was saved from having to say anything when a brave- and stupid- zombie spoke up. "Who the fuck are you?" it demanded.

The Devil turned His attention to that part of the crowd, which immediately shrunk back. He knew who had spoken. He smiled. "I am the Devil," He said simply. To emphasize His point, He snapped His fingers. The zombie who had so bravely spoken suddenly went up in flames, screaming and flailing, but nobody dared to help it. It disintegrated into ash. It did not get back up.

The Devil grazed His eyes over the audience, smile slipping slightly as He counted how many there were. The smile returned with full force. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Hell," He stated, staring pointedly at Francis, who shivered. Arthur shuddered in sympathy.

Another zombie spoke up. "We died but went nowhere," he said, much more cautiously than the first one had. "And we came back to Earth to live the way we want to. It's not fair that people like you get to rule over us. We don't even know you," he said, to a general murmur of agreement. The Devil tilted His head to the side. The act was childish, but on Him it looked vaguely psychotic.

"Oh?" He asked, somehow managing to put more death threats in that one syllable than Al-Qaeda managed in an entire year. The crowd shut up. The Devil's smile grew wider and poisonously sweet. He stepped forward. The crowd edged away.

"I find it interesting that you pick now of all times to try and revolt. It must be because there was a slight problem with maintenance in the Otherworld," another glance at Francis, "because that gave you the perfect opportunity, didn't it? I've always admired that about humans. You're so very resourceful. You're wonderful at taking advantage of things." He smiled pleasantly.

"Unfortunately, while appreciate your effort, I can't let you have your way. All of you belong to _me."_ His eyes flashed for a moment, and his scarf got caught and began to fly about in a gust of wind that wasn't there.

"My dear Ferryman, let me show you how it's done." He raised a hand. His smile widened. Being stuck in the middle of a zombie apocalypse suddenly didn't seem so bad.

"Jerk!" a (shrill) voice rang out. The Devil turned His head, frowning in confusion, when He was suddenly and quite literally bowled over by something small and white. The musicians stopped playing abruptly.

Arthur nearly fell out of the sky in surprise. "Good God!" he said.

And it was.

* * *

God sat up, sill balanced rather precariously on the Devil's stomach. "Yeah, that's me!" He said, pumping a fist in the air and looking around. "There you are, Artie-jerkface, I've been looking all over for you! I thought you'd gone and died or something. And I lost Alfred too, although you can't yell at me for it 'cause it's not my fault."

Arthur was torn between crying and laughing as the Devil sat up slowly, tipping God off of Him and onto the ground. His smile was so wide that it looked like His face was going to be split in two, which everyone could tell was a sign that He was beyond furious.

"_God,"_ He said, lips parting to expose two rows of perfect, and frighteningly large, teeth. Everyone other than God shuddered. God merely blinked. "Hullo. How're things?" He asked nonchalantly.

The Devil stood, willing Himself not to pound God into a little puddle of holy goo. He dusted His clothes off. "I don't see why you need to be here," He said with forced politeness. "I was merely going to collect the renegade souls that were _supposed _to be in Hell."

God shrugged and stood up too. He miracled a band-aid onto his knee. The Devil towered over Him, but the boy seemed unperturbed. "Yeah, yeah. That's fine with me, I don't really care, but the thing is like, half these souls are mine and belong in Heaven."

The Devil's mouth curled slightly in displeasure, but the smile stayed, looking even more frightening as it was distorted. "Ah, I see. Well, I suppose that's fair. Although, before you claim your souls and return to Heaven, aren't you in the least bit curious as to _why_ there are so many souls out here in the first place?" His gaze returned full force to Francis. Arthur surreptitiously tried to float away.

God frowned. It was adorable, which was all wrong because, well, it was _God._

"Oh, yeah. How did that happen, anyway?" He asked, although his question was directed at Arthur this time. Not for the first time that day, the two exchanged guilty looks. They floated down to ground level, to face God and the Devil.

"Well?" Satan demanded, eyebrow rising slowly. Arthur and Francis shuffled around awkwardly, wanting to put the blame on each other but unwilling to open their mouths. "I know there are a couple of Otherworldly's still out there," added the Devil pleasantly. Somewhere in the background, Feliciano wailed.

* * *

Shivering and wondering why he was sending himself to an early grave, Yao stepped forward and cleared his throat slightly, shrinking back automatically when both God and the Devil directed their attention to him.

"Uhm," he said intelligently. Satan smiled back.

"I assume you have something important to say," He asked, threat left unsaid. Yao gulped. God made a face. "Ignore him, he's just being a big bully," He said reassuringly, making the Devil's left eye twitch a little. Yao smiled nervously.

"Well, uhm. That right there, is a horde of zombies," he said, deciding that it would be easiest to start by stating the obvious. "Uhm. And, well, the thing is that these zombies, they were trying to open up the, uhm, what do you call them, the Gates, you know, the ones leading to Heaven and Hell. Because, uhm, they wanted to free all the other souls who are still trapped there."

The Devil frowned slightly. "I see. And why did they want to do that?" He looked at the crowd of zombies, expecting an answer, but He didn't get one. Yao took this as a cue to continue.

"I don't really know all the details because, well, obviously, I'm not a zombie myself, but from what I gather, the point was that they wanted all the dead souls to come back to Earth. And uhm, they said they'd be immortal because, well, they would have already died once, right? So the point was that they would never die, and they would never have to leave Earth, and they could live the way they wanted. As in, without having to answer to Heaven and Hell."

God nodded, taking this in. "I see, I see. How stupid. Ungrateful jerks, I totally made you, you know that?"

The Devil regarded them thoughtfully. "I always knew it would happen."

"Eh?"

"Heaven and Hell versus all of Humanity. I figured that might happen. Instead of the Apocalypse, I mean. Or during. I don't know. Your creations were faulty, to say the least, and I hardly expected them to take your nonsense lying down," He smiled chillingly. God stuck his tongue out.

"Sod off, I don't see you making any intelligent life forms. And demons don't count cause they're a cheap knockoff from my angels anyway," He retorted. Francis started to protest, but was shushed by Arthur.

God turned back to Yao. "All the same, it's not time for the Apocalypse yet. This is happening far too soon. Too many people have died before their time and everything's just way off- balance . I mean we have paperwork like woah right now. This has to be stopped, no offense or anything. Fun's over, you know?"

The zombies started to protest, but were silenced by a glare from Satan. Yao tried to back away without being seen, but the Devil stopped him, smiling again.

"Wait, don't go. I have two things to ask. Who are you exactly, Yao, and what do you have to do with all of this, and secondly, how did the sudden influx of souls come about in the first place?"

Yao chewed his lip, somehow not surprised that the Devil knew his name. "I'm a psychic," he said, hoping this did not sound as tacky as he thought it did. He coughed. "And, uhm, well, I sort of had a dream foretelling the whole zombie apocalypse thing. And spirits communicate to me often, and well, they told me what was going on and they told me to come to Times Square. I had a dream about those two," he indicated Arthur and Francis. "And the spirits told me to go find them, so I figured that meant that they were meant to sort of rescue us or something. So I managed to get them here and warned them about what was going on. And as for why there are so many walking corpses," he paused, catching sight of Arthur and Francis's panicked expressions, "I have no idea."

God turned to the pair. "Well, you two are responsible for moving souls around, aren't you? What in My name happened?"

Arthur glanced quickly at Francis. He took a deep breath, mentally kissing his freedom and well- being goodbye. "Well, see, the thing is, I've been working for a very long time, and-"

"I kidnapped him," interjected Francis smoothly, ignoring Arthur's stunned expression. "Because, well, I have been working for even longer than he has without ever getting promoted, and I decided that I wanted to get a Commendation for something. So, seeing as I have known Arthur for a long time, I thought I could use him to my advantage. So I decided to kidnap him, and if I was lucky I could cause him to Fall, defect and join Hell. All this time I have been holding him captive. He's been unable to free himself. He didn't have much of a say in it, really."

The Devil regarded him, icy smile still unwavering. "I see," he said, finally. "Well, I suppose I can understand wanting to get further up the corporate ladder. But, my dear Ferryman," He said, stressing the _dear_ like it was a curse, "did it not occur to you that leaving your job like that might result in some quite undesirable consequences?"

"He did," said Arthur quickly. "He, he asked someone to cover for him, but that person was unable to do it," he lied, not wanting to get Feliciano into trouble either. The Devil stared at him. "Who was this person?" He asked. Arthur said nothing.

* * *

The Devil was a horrible, scary person, and _why_ did Feliciano work for him? Strictly speaking he didn't really work, but he hung around Hell anyway and that was bad enough. And he was going to get into so much trouble it wasn't even funny. At least when The Angry Angel scolded him he could just make cutesy eyes and apologise, but Satan was a different story.

Feliciano didn't like Arthur. He yelled a lot.

But there he was, suffering Satan's death glare all because of him. Because Feliciano was useless and Arthur didn't want him to get in trouble. When Francis had been explaining it had all started coming together for Feli. _Francis_ was the one on the phone that day. He'd wanted him to take over for a while precisely so that this wouldn't happen. And Feli hadn't done it because he'd been to busy goofing off with Alfred, and now everyone else was getting in trouble for it.

Internally, he debated with himself. The zombies probably wouldn't try to kill him, now that the Bosses were here. Satan might, though. But then again God was there too so maybe Feli wouldn't get killed _too_ bad. But if he didn't step up now then Francis would get in trouble and maybe even lose his job. And he'd done so much for Feli, too; taught him how to row the big Boat and pick up chicks (which hadn't worked so well) and cook and choose wine and all sorts of other fun things. And Feli wasn't being a very good friend, even though Arthur and Francis were.

He sighed and crawled out from under the truck.

* * *

"I was supposed to have done it." The audience turned. Feliciano was pushing his way through the crowd, which wasn't proving too hard because the zombies were backing away from Feliciano's incredible waves of misery. He came to a stand in front of the Devil, head bowed. Alfred joined him a second later, standing quite close to his side.

The Devil regarded him coldly. "Ah. Yes. The one with all the bunnies," He smiled sardonically. "And you expected this silly boy to be able to do your job for you, Francis? What was it that made you fail so miserably at it?" He addressed Feliciano. "Not that I condone the shirking of duties in any way, but if you had been asked to take over the job, why did you not do it?"

Feliciano whimpered in response, eyes already filling up with tears. He had been brave to fess up, but he was quite plainly terrified. What would he say? How could he possibly explain what had happened? The tears intensified. "It was because- because I was really stupid..." he hiccupped, rubbing his eyes harshly in an attempt to get rid of the tears. The Devil raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

"It's not his fault he's weak and I beat the crap out of him," remarked Alfred offhandedly. All eyes swivelled in his direction. He grinned, despite feeling rather sick to his stomach because of the way Satan was _glaring _at him.

"Beg pardon?" He asked, voice covered in icicles. Alfred shrugged.

"Well, you saw us together, right? It's because I was dragging him around trying to find my dad, since _You_ weren't being very helpful. What did you expect me to do, just sit there and let Dad get tortured? Well, I came down to Hell looking for him, and I found this guy," he shoved Feliciano slightly. "And he wasn't a whole lot of help either; I mean, no matter what I did to him he wouldn't talk. So I figured I'd make him come with me until I found my dad. I thought that I might get lucky and manage to force the info out of him somehow. And believe me, I tried." He jerked his head, indicating the bruises all over Feliciano's arms (that had really come from being knocked around in an effort to get away from zombies, but nobody was about to admit to_ that_).

God looked aghast. "So you were involved too? What kind of angel interrogates people like that? I'm appalled. And slightly proud," He added, noting the way poor Feliciano was sobbing.

The Devil did not look entirely convinced. "Is this true?" He demanded of Yao, who only shrugged in response. He narrowed His eyes slightly at Alfred. The action itself was enough to make Alfred's eyeballs want to crawl back into his skull, but he kept a reasonably straight face. The Devil opened His mouth.

"I knew you were trouble," He said, voice venomous and eyes narrowed (though he was still smiling. Freak.). Alfred knew that it would never be safe for him to enter Hell again.

God clapped His hands. "Okay, okay! Now all the boring explanations are over, can we like, cut to the chase? I want my souls back, and then I really want to go home because I have a comic book I was just in the middle of reading."

The Devil finally tore His eyes away from Alfred (and not a moment too soon, because Alfred was about to pass out). "Fine," He said, not happy at all. "Stand back. Especially you two; get out of my face," he added none too kindly to Feliciano and Alfred. They obeyed.

"Sorry then guys, no hard feelings," God addressed the zombies at large, lifting His arms above his head and allowing His eyes to slide shut. The Devil shook His head and folded His arms, also allowing His eyes to close. Satan stomped His foot. At the same time, God swung His arms out, the same way a conductor might at the end of a song.

The world went silent.

* * *

**...idk :|**

**Oh my Sealand there's just like one moar chapter, gaiiiiiiiiiz.**

**CAPTAIN AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I haven't seen it yet but OH I WANT TO. YES I DO MHM. **


	25. Chapter 21: The end of Friday Evening

What happened next was difficult to describe. Yao would have said that the ground had opened up, bathing everyone in a red light, and dragging people down. Yong Soo would have said that the sky had suddenly become unbearably bright, as though all the clouds had just disappeared. Elizabeta would have said that there was a sudden gust of very hot wind, that for some reason left her shivering and wishing the Canadian kid had brought a jacket. Kiku wouldn't have said anything, because he was mourning his lost dog. Brian would have said, "Mnoiqwnkeoeflllf."

Whatever happened was over in an instant. All of a sudden, there were no more zombies. All the corpses on the ground had vanished, leaving only about half the original crowd, who were very much human.

"They didn't take all the humans who weren't really meant to die," whispered Arthur by way of explanation.

God and the Devil surveyed Their work. "Not bad," said the Devil. "I can't wait till the real Apocalypse. That should be interesting."

God sniggered. "As long as humans stop being jerks about it. It'd be nice if _you_ stopped being a jerk too, but then again I guess that's too much to ask."

Yao was stunned, but then again that was to be expected. "Wait, so is it like this all over the world?" he asked, as people in the crowd began to shift around awkwardly. Francis nodded. "Such is the power of the rulers of Hell and Heaven," he said softly. "He's right, I can't wait till the Apocalypse."

The Devil's musicians had started playing something soothing. Satan didn't protest to their choice of song. Instead, He turned around and drew a line in the air with His finger. A portal opened.

"Unfortunately, this means I have a lot of paperwork to do," He said over His shoulder, already beginning to step through it. "Francis. Don't think you're out of the woods yet; we'll talk about this when you get back."

The portal closed. Francis shuddered and let out a dry sob. Arthur patted him consolingly on the back. "At least we managed not do die," he said. Francis nodded sadly.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves somewhere around Arthur's waist. He looked down. God was hugging him round the middle, peering up at him through straw- coloured bangs.

"Well I'm glad you didn't die, even if you suck," said God. Arthur snorted, amused. "Thank you," he responded. God released him and wandered away.

He pointed at Yao. "You're cool," He said. "Be good and come work for me. I can't wait!"

Yao blinked. "Did you just wish for my death?"

God laughed. "No, not really. Not that I couldn't kill you if I wanted to." He stuck His tongue out and turned on His heel, intent on going back to Heaven. "Now, if you losers will excuse me, I'm going to go and finish of that comic book- GOD DAMMIT!"

He turned around to see what He had tripped over. "Whose dog is this?" He demanded, holding up a small yellow furball. "I should smite you into oblivion!"

Kiku's head snapped up abruptly. "Pochi!"

God looked at him. "This mutt's yours? Fine, here; take it! I don't want that thing in my Heaven!" He literally threw the dog at Kiku, who caught it with tears in his eyes. "Pochi!" he cried, hugging the dog close to his chest. It yipped.

God stood up and brushed Himself off, waving away Arthur's attempt to help. "Stupid mongrel. Anyway, like I said, I want to go home now. Ah, wait a minute." He stopped suddenly, moving closer to the small group of humans. "I think I sense another soul in here."

He stopped in front of the Canadian kid. "A- hah!" God cried, plunging a hand deep into the Canadian kid's chest. It left no mark, and there was no pain. He drew His hand back slowly. To the others' shock, they realised that there was another hand holding God's; God was slowly drawing a soul out of the Canadian kid's body.

He kept pulling, until Elizabeta was completely free. The Canadian kid blinked and raised a hand to his chest. It had been the first time he had truly been his own person in years. He looked up.

"Elizabeta?" he asked breathlessly, looking at the girl before him. She had an odd, translucent quality about her; like her colours were faded and watery. Still, she was beautiful. Long brown hair swept and cascading all the way until her back; and although she had claimed herself to be a warrior, she was wearing a simple green dress. And she was tall, true to her Viking blood. The Canadian kid's eyes travelled from the girl's pretty face to the flower behind her ear. "Wow..."

Elizabeta tittered girlishly. _"Hello," _she said, curtsying slightly. _"This is the first time I am seeing you not from your own eyes. I quite like it."_

Behind her, God made an impatient noise. Elizabeta nodded_. "I think I am going to Valhalla now. It is good for me; I have been waiting a long time. But I think that the last few years have been most enjoyable. Even though I wanted to go, I do not regret having shared a body with you,"_ she smiled at him. Almost as an afterthought, she leaned over and kissed the Canadian kid on the cheek; soft and quick.

God took her by the hand and began to tug her away. She turned to the other humans_. "Goodbye, all of you! You have also been most wonderful. I will miss you very much; you are not warriors, but you are very funny. I will see you again maybe, when it's your time. Until then, farewell! Keep your friendship, yes?"_

God opened up a portal and had already put one foot through it when the Canadian kid suddenly snapper out of his stupor. "Wait! Wait, what's going on? You're just going, just like that? I'm- I mean, you're not going to be around anymore? You're just leaving me alone?" he ran across the square and grabbed Elizabeta by the hand, preventing her from leaving.

God clicked His tongue impatiently. "Well, of course! She's been dead for ages, where do you think she's supposed to be? Now come on, Elizabeta, we have to go back to Heaven."

"Wait, no! You can't! I mean, I can't live with two souls for ages and then suddenly have it taken away from me! It's not fair," he said. Elizabeta smiled sadly at him.

_ "What can I do?"_ she said._ "It is my time. It was my time a long while ago."_

"But I lo- I li- I mean I'm kind of attached..."

Elizabeta looked at him expectantly. The Canadian kid sighed. He turned to God.

"Take me with you?" he asked.

Elizabeta gasped, but God merely tilted his head sideways. "Your soul in exchange for the stupid dog I just gave back? Sure, I think that could work. No nasty paperwork to fill out about balance shifting and all that."

Yao ran up to them. "Are you sure, man?" he asked. Kiku looked nervous, still holding his dog. The Canadian kid smiled. "Hell, I'm constantly trying to commit suicide anyway. This just makes things easier, right? And well... I'm sort of used to Elizabeta being around," he said, shuffling his feet bashfully. The tips of his ears turned pink. Elizabeta giggled.

Kiku finally smiled. "Well if that's what you want. Goodbye, friend."

The Canadian kid stepped into the portal. "Nah. Not goodbye. I'll see you some day."

Yao nodded. "Yeah," he said.

The portal closed. The Canadian kid was gone.

* * *

Kiku chewed on his lip. Kenny was, mercifully, quiet. Yao put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I'm a psychic, remember? We can talk to him any time."

Kiku smiled sadly and nodded. "Where'd Soo go?" he asked suddenly, looking around for their friend. Yao blinked.

"He's there, I think," he said, pointing at a hunched figure. They drew closer.

Yong Soo's figure appeared to be shaking. Yao asked him what was wrong. Soo turned, eyes red and blotchy.

"Brian!" he wailed, and they understood. Brian had been taken to the Otherworld. Yong Soo jumped up and latched himself onto Yao, bawling. The psychic made no move to dislodge him.

"He was- he was such a good zombie! He fought alongside us! I still never managed to teach him to say 'brains' properly! It's not fair!"

"Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry," said Yao, patting Yong Soo fondly on the head.

* * *

Feliciano's eyes were still red, although he was no longer crying. "Thanks for saving me," he said, voice coming out as a soft whisper. Alfred ruffled his hair affectionately, laughing. "Of course I saved you! You totally deserved it! Besides, I like you. You're cool."

"Really?" Feliciano went wide- eyed. "But now you can't come to Hell anymore!"

Alfred shrugged. "I wasn't ever really that crazy about Hell anyway. Besides, we can still be friends! I hear you don't really have a fixed job over there, so you can come visit me in Heaven lots!"

"But Satan-"

"Forget Satan! Nobody cares about Satan. And wait till he sees what I've done to all of Hell's bathrooms," Alfred grinned, making Feliciano giggle. Alfred continued. "It'll be totally cool. And I'll get you a cell phone and we'll make lots of plans and drive Arthur nuts!"

"I heard that," said the other angel sharply from where he was standing aimlessly with Francis. He shook his head. "Honestly, children. I don't know what to do with them."

Francis smiled, tiredness showing in his eyes. "Well, I guess that's that. We inadvertently caused the end of the world, but it's been fixed. We're saved."

Arthur frowned. "You're in trouble, though. And you stupid French bastard, why did you cover for me?" he asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I mean, you didn't have to... You could have gotten yourself some sort of awful punishment! What on Earth is wrong with you?" he demanded, trying to look angry. Francis laughed.

"Well, I'm not the only one guilty of defending you. Besides, we've been enemies for far too long to let each other fall. If one of us fails, it's because of the other one, right? That's how it works."

Arthur smiled. "I suppose. I would get bloody angry if someone killed you off before I got to." He sighed and rubbed at his arm. "My wings are killing me. I can't believe we just went through all that. All that just for the sake of a stupid holiday that didn't even last all that long!"

Francis shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps you think it was stupid, but you do feel better, don't you?"

"Insofar as having to stop the Apocalypse from ending early?" scoffed Arthur, before laughing. "Well, yes, actually, I do feel quite good right now. And well, if I'm lucky, nobody is going to die for a while."

Francis grinned and slapped Arthur on the back, sending the smaller man stumbling forward. "Well,_ ange,_ I have to say that despite everything that has happened, I don't regret a minute of it. In fact, I'd do it all again."

Arthur had to smile at that. "Me too, French bastard."

* * *

Yao came over with Kiku, Yong Soo still clinging to his shirt. "Arthur, Francis; I want to thank you."

Francis was surprised. "Whatever for?" he asked. Yao smiled.

"For saving the world. Or for trying, at least. I'm quite attached to life as it is, and it's nice to know that someone up there cares about us."

Arthur smiled gently. "And you're quite remarkable. Never have I met someone with your abilities. And you seem to have quite good friends, as well. You're a lucky man. Use your talents wisely, Yao."

Yao smiled and nodded. "That sounds like something I could do."

Alfred drew closer, Feliciano holding onto his arm. "Oi, Artie, let's go home," he said. "I'm aching for something to eat."

Arthur's expression immediately hardened. "Shut up, you, I'm in the middle of having a touching conversation here. Can't you go be stupid somewhere else?"

Alfred laughed. "Come on, old man, it's time for us to go anyway."

Yao only half- listened to Arthur's protest that he was not an old man, thank you very much, instead inclining his head politely to the two of them. "I think we should be heading home, too. It's been pretty crazy. I think what I really need is to eat instant noodles, and then sleep for the rest of the week."

"I'm just happy I have Pochi back," said Kiku, nuzzling his dog affectionately. "Although I'm not letting you near him anymore, you bastard, after what you did to him."

"It wasn't my fault," Yao whined, already turning away to leave, with Kiku following behind. Their argument was punctuated by the occasional sniffle or sob from Yong Soo.

Francis watched them go. Feliciano came over and attached himself to the demon's arm. Francis looked down. "What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly enough. Feliciano looked at the ground.

"Are you mad at me? For not doing your job like I was supposed to?"

Francis shook his head. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was get back to his ferry. "I'm not angry, Feliciano. It wasn't fair to just throw this at you when you weren't expecting it, without even giving you a proper explanation or showing you the ropes."

Feliciano brightened up immediately. "Great! That makes me happy. Can we go back to Hell together? I'm scared of facing the Devil alone," he admitted. Francis chuckled.

_"_Yes,let's go," he said. He looked up. "_Ange._ I think that I should be going. Knowing Satan, I'm not going to be done with this for quite some time. And I think you have some explaining to do in Heaven; even if I doubt your God will be interested."

Arthur regarded him stoically. "Well then. I guess I'll see you around, you French bastard," he said. Francis smiled.

"_Oui._ Till tomorrow, then, my friend."

Arthur grinned back. "Right. I'll see you at work."

* * *

**And the final tally of Yao's predictions:**

**1. Zombies  
2. Angels and demons  
3. Overcrowding  
4. Trouble (no shit sherlock)  
****5. Demon dogs (pochi)  
6. Dyslexia  
****7. Long lines at the post office  
****8. McDonald's meat freezer  
****9. The Canadian kid getting a girlfriend**

**How accurate were they in the end? Ohohoho.**

**I adore Captain America/Iron Man now. Even though I haven't even read the Avengers omg I'm a terrible fan hahahaha. It's okey, I'll do it when school's over and I have six months off. I can handre it then.**

**Crappy ending is crappy. **


	26. The Epilogue: One last Thursday

Yao chewed his pen thoughtfully, searching through the classifieds of the New York Times as he had been doing for the past week. Ever since the almost-apocalypse, the three of them had been out of a job, because the restaurant had been trashed.

It didn't really matter. They never liked the owner anyway.

On the plus side, nobody seemed to remember the apocalypse at all. The damage to all that property had been written off as a freak natural disaster that nobody could remember. Parts of the puzzle were still missing, but people had forgotten all about them by now. Humans were useful at that; moving on and picking up the pieces.

Yao's phone began to vibrate madly. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked it. The text had no return number. The message itself looked like a bunch of garbled nonsense.

"Yong Soo, it's for you," Yao called over his shoulder, waiting for the sound of excited footsteps before the phone was yanked out of his hand.

"Sweet, it's Brian!" exclaimed Yong Soo to nobody in particular, galloping off to chat with his friend. Yao fought back a smile. "Trust Yong Soo to be the only one who can understand a text message from a dyslexic."

There was a yelp and a thud from behind, as Kiku tripped over his dog for the third time that day. Yao didn't turn. "Shall I make lunch today?" he asked. A hand appeared on the counter, and Kiku hauled himself to his feet.

"If you don't mind, that would be lovely. I'd help, but it's Thursday."

Yao nodded and took another sip of his tea. Kiku sat opposite him. Pochi jumped onto his lap. "Have you heard from the Canadian kid lately?" he asked, absentmindedly stroking the dog. Yao shook his head.

"Haven't, actually. Last time I did was on Monday."

"Can't say I blame him, though," sighed Kiku. "The guy's in Heaven. He must be enjoying himself."

"I still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that he effectively, you know, kicked the bucket so he could follow his girl all the way to the afterlife."

"You know what they say. Romance is a lot like smoking pot. Once you get past the initial queasiness and urge to gag, you start getting all dizzy and light-headed, and before you know it, you're addicted."

Yao pondered this. "Of course, like pot, prolonged exposure would lead to brain damage."

Kiku shrugged. "You'd have to be a little brain-damaged anyway to attempt romance in the first place."

"Or pot."

"Or pot," Kiku conceded, smiling serenely. "And of course, there are the sensible ones like us who prefer to stay out of the whole mess."

"But by the time we try to warn the others not to get involved, it's too late. They're already going, _dude, you gotta try this shit, it's awesome!"_

Kiku chuckled. "Romance certainly is complicated."

"I thought we were talking about pot?"

"It was nice of him to let us have some of his stuff," said Kiku offhandedly, wanting a sip of Yao's tea but worried that he would spill it. Yao shrugged. Kiku was right, but it had not been pleasant to have to explain things to the Canadian kid's family, even if they didn't really seem to know which kid Yao was talking about. Luckily, Yao managed to blame it on the freak storm that everyone believed in, and ended up not having to answer too many questions. Needless to say, it was pretty surreal to attend a guy's funeral while simultaneously texting said guy. On the plus side, though, Yao had managed to somehow make friends with the Canadian kid's parents. Come to think of it, he really should get around to mailing that letter to them back in Toronto. He would have done it sooner had the post office not been so damned crowded lately.

"So," Kiku began, leaning back in his chair and eventually falling off. He got back up, nonplussed. "So," he repeated, "have you been getting any weird dreams lately?"

Yao shook his head. "My dreams have been completely normal. Well, insofar as dreams can be considered normal. I had a dream I went to work naked; does that count?"

Kiku allowed himself a small smile. "Well, I'd say that same dream happens to everyone, but given the nature of your psychic powers, I think you should be worried."

Yao chuckled and set his pen down. "So I've been thinking," he began, leaning forward in his seat. "How about we open up our own business? 'Yao's fortune-telling agency'. And you two could be my assistants! We'd set it up all ancient Chinese-like, with crystal balls and fancy rubber dragons and sparkly curtains and things like that. And we could contact spirits of lost loved ones and stuff, I could totally do that. We could make a killing."

Kiku snorted. "Right. Perhaps we'll try that after we save some money up, hmm?"

Yao smiled cheerfully. "It doesn't hurt to dream. I think it's a goal we can work towards."

"Mhmm." Kiku looked out the window, eyes taking on a slightly faraway look. "I wonder what happened to those angels? And the demons," he said, glancing at Yao out of the corner of his eye. Yao, however, kept his face skilfully blank.

"I haven't seen them around anywhere," he said innocently. Kiku smiled. "Of course." He hugged his dog closer. "I mean, seeing as the end of the world has passed, and you're the only psychic around here, you would probably be the only one able to see them anyway. But hey, that's just my speculation. And I trust you." He stood up, swinging Pochi languidly in his arms. "But, if you do happen to see them you could always tell them I said hello..." he trailed off, turning to look at Yao, who nodded.

Kiku walked away, managing not to trip over anything and flatten his dog. Yao went back to his newspaper and took another sip of tea. No, he had not seen any sign of the guardians of the Otherworld. But, that wasn't to say that he didn't sometimes feel like he was being watched.

He stood up abruptly, empty teacup in hand, and dropped it in the sink. He picked up the pot full of Chinese tea that had been sitting on the side table all this while, and sniffed at it. Brewed to perfection. He smiled and retrieved another two teacups, these made of real porcelain and decorated with blue swallows. He filled them with tea, and set them on the counter.

"This isn't for anyone in particular," he said out loud, although nobody could hear. "I'm just going to leave it here for anyone who wants it. If I come back and it's gone, I'll just have to assume Yong Soo or Kiku drank it."

He picked up his newspaper and walked away. The kitchen was silent for a minute. Suddenly Yao re-entered, and opened the fridge. He mulled over the biscuits, wondering which ones to take. Chocolate or ginger?

He settled for both. He set them on the table, next to the tea. He left for the second time, but not before opening a window.

Just in case.

* * *

**A quiet ending to a ridiculous story. Thank you to everyone who stayed with me all this while! I made so many friends, this is awesome. There may or may not be a sequel to this, I don't know. I'll only be able to get started on it at the end of the year at any rate. Till then, though, I will be working on a series of short stories to keep myself busy. You guys, don't forget about me D: Losing friends sucks for serious. **

**Right, thanks again if you've read this far. I think my A/Ns take roughly 27% of the word count ngl. And I'm rambling again. Sorry.**

**See you soon, fellas! **

**BananaNutCrunch, over and out. **


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